A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years
by lilyjack00
Summary: Most are extremely brief, all will be stand-alone vignettes, completely unhindered by plot. ;-) Some sweet, some bittersweet, some humorous, some poignant, all romantic. When you get to the end of the "chapter" it is over. The end. If you like 'em, I've got seven or so already written, another half dozen partly written. If you hate 'em, I can quit at any time. Thanks, lj
1. First Kiss

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _Undeniably plotless and meandering ruminations upon the sublimely romantic symbiosis of our favorite Dodge City couple. These are simply random vignettes of love and desire with a few containing habanero-hot spiciness, so beware if you don't subscribe to that sort of ardent nonsense, dear reader. Just don't say you ain't been warned, fair & square. Each vignette is a self-contained stand-alone and does not continue, so this is not really a fic with "chapters." The vignettes are very short as well, a few hundred words each. So don't complain about brevity either because you've been warned up front about that, too. Hopefully you can enjoy them for what they are. Just think of them as "quickies" that end rather abruptly so you are forced to use your imagination for the "rest of the story." Just go with it and nobody'll get hurt. ;-) Thanks for reading, lj_

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"First Kiss"

by Lilyjack

The first time Matt Dillon had kissed her, she'd been wearing her oldest, flimsiest, worn cotton nightgown that badly needed a side seam repaired and was missing two tiny decorative buttons right on the front placket. Kitty didn't have on a speck of paint, and the thick braid she'd carefully woven into her hair before sliding between the cool sheets had been wallowed into a mess after an hour or so of restless tossing and turning. She certainly wasn't looking her finest.

It was the night of stuck-up Tillie Satter's wedding to young rancher Seth Weaver, and Kitty had gone to bed early with a bit of a headache after Bill Pence had given her the night off. Not much business downstairs anyway. Seemed like pretty much every soul in town was at the party a couple of blocks away, and she hadn't been able to sleep a wink for all the noise. Laughter and music spilled out onto the street-merry fiddles, strumming banjos and guitars. She'd tried bunching her pillow over her ears to block out the sound, but that hadn't helped too awful much. So she closed her eyes tight and pulled the sheet over her head, releasing a weary sigh from the bottom of her toes. But, finally, after what seemed an eternity of struggling to get comfortable in her tangled bedding, she apparently had fallen into a fitful sleep.

That is until she was startled awake at an insistent pounding on her bedroom door. "Who izzit?" she mumbled groggily, sitting up and scrubbing her sleepy face with her palms, eyes still sealed shut. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Kitty. Matt."

"Matt?" she blearily repeated. One eye cracked open and she made a face. Dammit, she knew she looked a sight. "Justa minute." Throwing back the covers, she managed to locate only one slipper beside the bed. She squinted, navigating in the pale moonlight streaming through the white lace curtains, casting their intricate shadowy patterns on the bare wooden floor below. "One second," she called again, tossing the mateless slipper under the bed and digging through the small piles of abandoned unmentionables on the floor and chair, searching for her wrapper. Where on earth did she put that blasted…?

"Kitty, you okay?" He hesitated, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Uh, if you're busy, I'll just uh…"

"Yeah, Matt… No! I mean, no, I'm not. Busy. I'm…" She heaved a sigh and stood up straight, blowing a wayward curl out of her face. "…coming… I'm coming, Matt." Traipsing to the door, she opened it just a little ways and warily peeped out. "Evenin', Matt," she smiled, trying not to appear out of sorts.

"Kitty…" He looked taken aback, shoving his Stetson off his forehead with an index finger. "I'm sorry. What're you doin' in bed? I had assumed you'd be at the big wedding. I looked everywhere for ya'."

She cast her eyes down, tried to hide her bare feet beneath the hem of her thin, voluminous nightdress which was rather difficult since it only went down to her ankles. "Oh, well…I, uh, had a little headache." She gingerly tapped her temple for emphasis. "Laid down for a while."

"Oh, I see. Well, I'm real sorry you're feelin' poorly, Kitty."

"Thanks, Matt. My head feels much better now since I managed to get some rest." She bit her lip and looked him over appreciatively. He was wearing a jacket and string tie and his boots were polished and shiny. His handsome face was clean-shaven, his thick, wavy hair freshly trimmed, and the delicious aroma of spicy-scented shaving lotion made her want to close her eyes and breathe him in deeply. But his gussied-up appearance made her feel all the more conspicuous wearing little more than a short-sleeved cotton nightdress with her hair escaping its messy braid. She smiled, "I think I'll recover."

He looked hopeful. "Well, if you're feelin' better now, maybe you can get dressed and come to the…"

Quickly she shook her head. "No, I… I don't think so, Matt."

He eagerly offered, "I'll wait…"

She interrupted, "No, really Matt. I bet there are lots of nice girls at the party you could dance with."

"But, Kitty, I… Well, I'd been lookin' forward to this wedding, sorta. I don't usually care for these things, but I thought I would see… Well, I mean, I guess I assumed that you…"

She rescued him and answered his question before he finished. "No, Matt, really, I can't."

"But Kitty…"

"You don't understand, Matt."

"Kitty, _you_ don't understand." He looked behind him quickly to make sure no one was within earshot. He continued quietly but earnestly, "I don't wanna go with anybody but you."

" _Oh_ …" It was her turn to be taken aback. Her eyes widened and she absently laced her fingers through the worn ribbon drawstring tied in a bow at her bodice.

He reached for her arm. "Don't you wanna go for just a little while?" He grinned. "I gotta haircut just for the occasion."

"Oh…Matt…" She peeped out the door at the upstairs walkway to make sure it was deserted and requested, "Come inside just for a minute, okay? I think we need to talk."

She quickly pulled him within and leaned back against the closed door, crossing her arms self-consciously, in spite of the fact that the room was bathed only in pale silver moonlight and deep shadows. A girl could conceal a host of flaws and secrets in here.

"Kitty, are you sure you're alright? You want me to go get Doc?"

"No, Matt, honestly. I'm fine now. It's just… Well, you see, I…" She didn't know how to approach this. She knew how Matt felt about filthy men who'd tried to call her bad names in the past. He usually just knocked them unconscious in a fit of rage. But she didn't think he'd ever noticed the stares, the snide looks she'd get from some of Dodge's everyday citizens.

"What, Kitty?" His tone was anxious. "You can tell me."

She looked down and studied her folded arms. "Well, I don't think I'd be very welcome at Tillie Satter's wedding. She's what you might call Dodge City high society, if there is such a thing. And I'm just a saloon girl, ya' see. Not very welcome at those kinds of high-falutin' affairs." She glanced up and offered him a half-hearted smile.

"But…"

"Tillie doesn't like me much. Oh, I don't really know her, of course, but I've seen her around town a few times, and if looks could kill, I swear, I'd be dead about ten times over."

"Surely…surely you're mistaken."

"Matt, a woman's not mistaken about these things. I wasn't born yesterday. And I know I wouldn't be welcome at Tillie Satter's wedding."

"Huh." Matt scratched his head beneath the brim of his hat and thought about Kitty's words.

"But you haven't done anything to her, have you?"

"Doesn't matter, Matt. I'm saloon trash."

"Don't talk that way, Kitty."

"Well, I'm not naïve. I know that's what they say about me, and worse, behind my back."

Even in the darkness, she could see Matt's eyes smoldering with anger. "Well, Kitty, if you're not welcome, then I'm not goin' back either."

Feeling guilty that she'd spoiled his nice evening, she tried to soothe him. "Now, Matt…"

"That's all there is to it." He planted his hands stubbornly on his lean hips. "It wouldn't be any fun without you anyway." Then he fastened his gaze on her. "Kitty, I… Well, I've never known a girl like you."

"Ha. I bet you haven't." She tried to lighten the mood, change the subject. She teased, "Say, what about that Lessie girl I've seen chasin' after you whenever she's in town with her family? Doesn't her daddy own a big spread a few miles out? I'm sure she'd be happy to cut a rug with you. Why didn't you ask…?"

"Kitty, honest, you're not listenin' to me. Girls like Lessie, they've been handed everything on a silver platter." He was feeling frustrated but also emboldened by the dark intimacy of the room, not to mention the three glasses of spiked punch he'd drunk before heading back to the Long Branch in search of Kitty. He added quietly, "You, you're different. You don't have a family to rely on and you've had to work hard to support yourself."

"Yeah. Well, maybe my kinda work isn't so appealing to some folks, and they take offense, Matt."

"Kitty, some of us are luckier in life than others. But we play the cards we're dealt, and some of us, like you, make a go of things. You fight hard and come out a winner. You're tough and smart, but in spite of everything that's happened, Kitty, you haven't hardened your heart. What I'm tryin' to say is, _you're_ the sweetest girl I know. And even though I'm a terrible dancer, you're the one I wanna dance with."

His was leaning with his arm braced on the door over her now. No matter how many times she was with him, she never quite got over how big the man was. She was feeling especially small now while she didn't have on any shoes or many clothes for that matter. And him telling her she was the sweetest girl he knew nearly made her cry right then, in spite of the fact that she'd learned a long time ago that crying didn't get a girl like her anywhere. "I don't recall bein' called sweet by too many people."

"Then I don't reckon too many people have known you very well."

"You reckon so, huh?" She glanced up at him in the dim light, her eyes shining.

"Have I ever told you how pretty you are, Kitty Russell?"

She gave him a sincere smile now, all thoughts of hateful girls fading in their quiet moment together. "A time or two, Marshall."

"Well, you look prettier right now, without all the fancy clothes and hairdos those high-falutin' girls are wearin' tonight. With your eyes so bright in the moonlight, and your hair fallin' down around your face, you look so soft and sweet and pretty." He took a quick breath at his own bold words, but quickly continued before his courage ran out, "Those girls don't hold a candle to you." He took the loose end of her messy braid she'd been worrying in her hands, rubbing the big, soft curls between his fingertips.

She was finding it hard to breathe with him looking at her like that. Always before when they'd flirted, they'd been together in crowded rooms, but now, in the dark, in her nightclothes, this was different. "You look mighty handsome yourself tonight, Marshal."

"Well, I don't get gussied up like this for just anybody, you know."

"Oh, I bet you get dressed up like this for all the girls, Matt Dillon."

"I told you…" He gave his hat a shove backwards on his forehead and straightened his shoulders, searching for courage. "… there are no other girls, Kitty."

"Are you sweet talkin' me, Matt?"

"What if I were?"

"Well, I…" She nervously tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and murmured, "I just don't know."

"You don't want me to?"

"Oh, I didn't say that…"

"Then what?"

"Maybe I'm a little surprised?" Her eyes tilted up at the sweet, lilting sound of a slow waltz echoing down the street, its beautiful melody one that always made her chest ache.

"What? You don't think I'm a sweet talkin' kinda fella?" Matt watched her expression and held out a hand. "Will you dance with me, Kitty?"

"Dance?" Her brows lifted.

"Come on, let's dance. Just you and me, nobody watchin'."

Her mouth dropped open as she glanced down meaningfully at her attire. "Matt, I'm not dressed…"

"It's just me, Kitty. No one will see. And you always look pretty to me, no matter what you're wearin'."

She actually felt her cheeks warming and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh Matt, you're teasing me."

"Dance with me, Kitty. Please. Hey, I got dressed up just for you, tonight. It's the least you can do for a gussied-up lawman, isn't it?"

She gave a hesitant smile, unable to resist his grin, and cautiously stepped into his arms, mindful of the thin cotton that was the only barrier that lay between her and that big, tall lawman. It was ironic, really. A girl like her, a girl in her line of work worried about what Matt would think. She didn't give two hoots about all the other men that came through this saloon every night by the dozens. But Matt Dillon wasn't just any man. He was different. She cared what he thought about her. And she was feeling very vulnerable right then with him taking her in his arms with none of the protective armor she was accustomed to wearing when he was usually around. It felt strange, feeling shy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt shy with a man. She was feeling rather like a very young girl again with her first beau.

But she looked up into those clear-blue eyes that were always so sincere and true, and she felt herself relaxing into his embrace. His hand clasped hers gently and the other slipped around to nestle warmly in the small of her back.

"I'm not very good at this, you know." His voice cracked a little on the last word and he laughed nervously.

She smiled and placed a hand on his smooth cheek. "Well at least I'll have one advantage. Just start with this foot. I'll count…ONE, two, three…ONE, two, three…"

They laughed when they stumbled together at first, but soon they were able to dance a simple little waltz in Kitty's bedroom to the sweet sound of fiddle music. Kitty's heart swelled to bursting in her chest, and for the second time that evening she felt she might just cry. She didn't know what'd come over her. Well, that was a lie. She knew very well what had come over her; what that thing was happened to be well over six feet tall and holding her in his arms right that very minute. She'd loved him since the day she'd laid eyes on him in that café eating breakfast one miserable, rainy morning, but she hadn't dared to hope he'd ever feel the same about her, being the kinda girl she was and all. But now look where they were - dancing a waltz in the moonlight.

Her breath hitched in her chest as the final gentle refrain of the song echoed through the streets and floated through her open window.

"Are you alright, Kitty? I hope I didn't make your headache…"

She shook her head and quickly smiled. "No, Matt… No, not at all. I wanna thank you for the dance. It was lovely." Her face shone up at him happily and she couldn't believe just a few minutes ago she'd been encouraging him to dance with that girl Lessie. What had she been thinking? She didn't ever want to leave this man's embrace.

"No, I think _you're_ lovely, Kitty." He let go of her hand and touched her cheek. "I think you're the loveliest girl I've ever known. For more reasons than one. I meant what I said earlier. You're just not the same as the other girls."

"I like you, too, Matt Dillon. More than you know." She gazed at him with his haircut and string tie and jacket, all dressed up for a Saturday night wedding. Then she took a deep breath, tiptoed high and gave him a soft, lingering kiss on his smooth cheek. Averting her eyes quickly, she turned and walked toward the door. "Guess it's pretty late and you have to be going."

Even in the pale moonlight, she could see the glazed look in his eyes. She watched his hand touch the cheek she'd kissed.

He took a moment to follow her. He towered over her standing there again with her back to the door, and then he quickly removed his hat. His voice cracked a little again when he spoke. "Shoulda' taken this off when I came in. A lady's room and all."

It was not lost on her, his "lady" remark, and tears stung her eyes yet again. She could get used to all this respect. This man was one in a million. But then, she'd had a feeling when she'd first laid eyes on him. She could read people like that. Some said it was a gift.

"Well, you'll remember that next time you come in here won't you then, Marshal?"

"Yes, I most certainly will."

She smiled and placed her hand on the doorknob.

She felt his large, warm hand dwarf hers atop it.

"Wait, just one more thing, Kitty."

She turned her head back and he was inches away. She slowly pivoted to face him. "What?" she breathed.

"Just this…" He gently lifted her chin with his fingertips and ducked his head low, placing his soft lips on hers for the sweetest of kisses. Her eyes remained closed when he pulled away and he whispered in her ear, "Meet me for breakfast at Delmonico's in the morning, 9am?"

"I'll meet you," she whispered back, finally gazing at him.

Matt's heart shone in his eyes. "Can I kiss you again tomorrow?"

Kitty's heart leapt in her chest. She earnestly murmured, "You can kiss me again tomorrow and the day after that, Matt Dillon."

"Night, Kitty. I should go do rounds now."

"Night, Matt. Be careful."

end

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	2. Fishing with Doc and Chester

**_A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years_**

 _Author's Note: I got a lot less carried away on the length with this one, but a little more carried away on the spiciness. This vignette is humorous in tone. Like I said earlier, these are all completely random. Sorry 'bout that._

 _Oh, and thank you all for the lovely reviews. I will PM you ASAP but I left my laptop charger cord at work today (gadzooks!) so will have limited connectivity, i.e. a dead batt'ry very soon. I hope you'll enjoy this fishing trip, too. Sincerely, lj_

"Fishing with Doc & Chester"

by Lilyjack

He woke her with a tender yet insistent kiss upon her sleep-flushed cheek, hastily unbuckling his gun belt, shucking his vest, peeling off his shirt, and chucking them all carelessly on her bare wooden bedroom floor, modestly decorated with only a small, inexpensive throw rug that had been carefully placed beside the bed. Kitty's face was half-buried in the feather pillow. She'd been sleeping blissfully until now in the half-light of dawn when she was forced to open one eye to squint languidly at Dodge City's young marshal. He was hopping on one foot by her bedside, struggling to tug loose a brown leather boot from his oversized foot.

"Kitty?" He nimbly switched to hop on the other foot and successfully removed the second boot, sending it clattering to the floor to join its mate. "Don't close your eyes on me now. You awake?"

"Mmm…?" was her drowsy response.

He tenderly but quickly brushed the hair off her forehead, kissing her again as he began unbuttoning his pants. "You gonna wake up for me?"

A sleep-croaky voice, muffled by the pillow, drawled, "I thought you were goin' fishin' with Doc an' Chester."

"I was… I am." He struggled to remove his pants, finally kicking them free of his legs and sending them sailing. They landed in a rumpled heap with the rest of his clothing. "I told Doc and Chester that I'd catch up with 'em."

"Catch up with 'em?" She stretched like a lazy cat and rubbed her eyes, wistfully abandoning any ideas she might've harbored regarding additional sleep. It seemed she and Matt got little rest nowadays when he was in town, she ruminated wryly. That's what happened when you graduated from being close friends to, well, a lot more than just close friends. She gazed at him affectionately, admiring how his broad, muscular shoulders strained against the well-worn fabric of his long underwear. The sweet, anxious look in his eyes tugged at her heart. "You mean you already met up with 'em this morning? And then left?" she inquired, a mite perplexed.

"Yeah…I, uh… I told 'em I'd catch up with them because I needed to go back for something."

"Go back?" She rolled on her side, resting a pink cheek on an elbow as the first pale light of dawn touched her sleep-tossed hair, making it shimmer like low-burning embers in a campfire.

"Yeah…" He planted a hand on his lean hip, scratched the side of his neck with the other. "I, uh, told 'em I forgot something."

She looked pointedly down at his union suit, impressively tented below his waistline. Her peach-soft lips twitched and she stated in her best poker-playing voice, "I see you brought along your fishin' pole with ya…" But her expressive eyes twinkled mischievously, an amber brow arching toward her hairline. "So that obviously couldn't have been what you forg-"

Her sassy statement dissolved into raucous laughter as Kitty's huge beau fiercely growled and crawled atop her.

He gruffly declared, "I believe I've already caught me a purty little catfish right here." His blue eyes twinkled down on her as a wide, infectious grin overtook his handsome face, completely belying his mock serious tone.

She raked her fingers through the soft, floppy curls on his forehead, then intertwined her hands behind his neck. Smiling radiantly back at him, she sought to clarify, "Oh, I've been caught, have I?"

"You're not goin' anywhere fast, are you? _Kiss me, honey, we don't have a lotta time. Chester and Doc will get suspicious."_

"A girl would be crazy to leave you, Matt Dillon. _Mmm…your lips are so soft for such a big, tough lawman, you know that?_ Besides, Chester won't be suspicious. He might be confused. Doc will be the suspicious one."

"You really think a girl would be crazy to leave me? I don't know…I was kinda thinking the opposite… _Move over thisaway a little. You fit perfect right here. Like you were made to go there, huh?"_

"Of course a girl would be crazy. I know a good thing when I see it. You think we were made to be together? I like that idea, Cowboy."

" _Mmm, you smell so good, Kitty. You smell a whole lot better than Doc and Chester."_

" _Gee thanks, Marshal. Maybe you can engrave that on my tombstone. You didn't shave this morning. Be careful…you'll give me razor burn. Doc's suspicions will be confirmed."_

" _I'm sorry, honey. Tell me if I'm too rough._ So I'm a good thing? Really?"

" _Ohh,_ yes. _Ohh…do that again…_ I mean, yes, you are a very good thing, Matthew Dillon."

" _Do this_? _Right here?"_

" _Yess… Right there… Keep on doing that… Now kiss me again_."

" _Don't unbutton me there. I don't have time to get all the way outta this thing, honey._ Chester and Doc will be halfway to the fishin' hole by now."

"Well, you're the one who started this."

"I know, but I just can't get enough of you. I had to come back for just a few minutes. Besides, with Chester gone, I knew we wouldn't be interrupted. Just this once."

"Well, you got me there. Maybe you should send Chester and Doc on fishin' trips more often."

"Now that's an idea. _Oh…sweetheart…that's the spot, right there…_ "

"Matt, how do you do it? _A little to the left…oh my…_ "

"Do what…honey? _By golly, I'm so glad I turned around…and came back_."

"Fist fights… Barroom brawls… And… _Oh, Matt…_ Fishin' trips… _Oh…Matt…_ "

"What, Kitty? Fist fights? What's that got to do with…? _Hold tight, sweetheart…_ "

" _I'm holdin', Cowboy._ Through them all, you manage to never…lose…that…damn hat…"

Matt gave a quick glance upward toward the brim of his gray Stetson pushed way back on his forehead, realizing for the first time that he still was wearing it. He grinned and then gazed in satisfaction at the sultry expression on his girl's face. "I thought…you liked…my hat, Kitty. _Now say 'Oh Matt' for me one…more…time…._ "

end

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	3. The Marshal's Appetite

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _Another random vignette – very short this time. More vignetty than the last two ever dared to be. ;-) Thanks for reading, Gunsmokers. Hope you enjoy, lj_

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"The Marshal's Appetite"

by Lilyjack

U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon had an insatiable appetite. And not just for eggs and ham and biscuits, mind you. Oh no. He was a connoisseur of other delicacies as well. A giant of a man with impressive physical prowess and stamina, he was possessed of amazing recuperative abilities to boot, as witnessed time and again by a disbelieving Doc Adams, who steadfastly proclaimed his stubborn, overgrown patient's swift and providential medical recoveries nothing short of miraculous.

But a certain Miss Kitty Russell had wryly observed over the years that the Marshal's prowess, stamina, and recovery speed, not to mention that insatiable appetite, fortunately carried over into the boudoir as well, much to her utter delight and unceasing pleasure. Oh, she counted herself a fortunate woman, indeed, in matters both highly intimate and fiercely passionate. Now, admittedly, the marshal might disappoint her thoroughly now and again by failing to escort her to a town social or a party owing to his omnipresent, damnable official duties, but he never neglected to attempt to make it up to her in private when he finally returned home afterward.

Yep, he had a mighty healthy appetite all right. One of these days, she swore he was gonna love her all up and nothin' would be left behind save the echo of her rapturous cries and the memory of her blissful expression. Oh, that lovin' man of hers… The citizens of Dodge had no idea the big, red-blooded heart that lay beating behind the badge upon his stalwart, broad chest.

They thought the marshal was all business, stern, taciturn, humorless and hard. Yes, he had a limited few trustworthy people he could call friends, but only his lady knew the true depth of feeling that stirred his passions, that fueled the internal thunder driving him and keeping him awake at night. She shared his dreams, his victories, his failures, his worries and his nightmares. She knew what went on beneath the stoic façade of Dodge City's marshal and how great his humanity, his unwavering moral compass, his capacity for love really was. She also knew how great was his hunger for justice, for peace, for freedom from want for his little corner of the world that was Kansas.

Knowing that about him just made her love him all the more. She stayed with him through hell and back, even when he placed his job first because she understood why he did what he did. But then, afterward, he always came home to her, didn't he? Yes, Matt Dillon might just love her all up one of these days, but not if she loved him up first. Her man wasn't a rich man who put her up in a fancy house with diamond rings. But he was brave and honest, hard-working and selfless, gentle and loving, the best man she'd ever in her life met. That was worth more than rubies and diamonds, silver and gold, more than all the riches in the world. And that satisfied her own appetite just fine, thank you kindly.

end

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	4. Purple Dress

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _More plotfree Matt and Kitty nonsense. I hope you agree with Master Shakespeare that "brevity is the soul of wit."_

 _P.S. Thank you so much, all you kind "guest" reviewers whom I cannot send a private message. The little notes you all leave for amateur writers such as myself make posting worthwhile. If we fic authors got a chorus of crickets when we posted, we'd assume no one was reading and we'd quit trying. I encourage everyone to sign up for an account—go get an anonymous email account if you need to, make up a fun cowgirl or cowboy handle (I'll help you! Names are my specialty!) and then you'll be more a part of the community when folks can send PMs back and forth. I have formed lifelong friendships through this very website by doing this. We even vacation together. No kidding. Sign up today. Gunsmokers are the best._

 _Thanks for reading, lj_

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"Purple Dress"

by Lilyjack

He watched her remove the pin from her hat and set them both on the dresser as he sauntered in the bedroom door. Intelligent, crystal blue eyes sparkled and a customarily deep voice rose an octave as he greeted the stunningly attractive woman jovially, "Why, hello, Miss. Looks like you might be havin' trouble with those buttons on the front of that pretty, purple dress you have on there."

"It's orchid, I'll have you know."

"Huh?"

"It's orchid, not purple."

"Oh! Sorry. But it sure is purty on you."

"It is, huh."

"Yeah, I bet it'd be just as purty offa you, too."

"You don't say."

"Mmm-hmm. Let me offer my services with those buttons there."

"Would your services be in your official capacity as U.S. Marshal?"

"If that's what it takes, then yep."

"You're real dedicated. I admire that in a man. That's a pretty specialized service you're offerin'—gettin' ladies outta their afternoon dresses and into their evening ones… Keep your fingers on the buttons, sir… Don't know as I've heard of another lawman providin' such a thing."

"Hold still, I can't get all these tiny little buttons when you talk so much… No, Miss, not all marshals are as responsive to the needs of his citizens as I am. There, you wanna hang this part up? Now, where's this skirt unbutton?"

"Right here. It's tricky and it's hard to reach. So, you offer this here handy service to all the ladies? You, uh, I think you missed a button. There's one more."

"Got it. Step out. You want this in the chifforobe? Oh, I only offer this particular service to special ladies. You gettin' dressed for work now? It's awful early."

"No, I thought I might take a nap first. It's gonna be a long night. I heard two more outfits rode in yesterday."

"A nap, huh? Kitty, what the hell do you wanna wear a bustle for? This contraption here is crazy. I have the hardest time getting it off of… There. I swear I'm gonna take it out for target practice one of these days."

"Don't you dare…"

"Feel right here… See, you got plenty back here and don't need a bustle covering all that up."

"Matt, I really need to take a nap. Don't go gettin' anything started."

"Whatta you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Your hands. And I really am tired."

"Alright, alright… I guess I'll just go do some target practice, me and your big bustle."

"It's high fashion, Matt. I didn't choose it. But if I stop wearin' that big ol' bustle, will you promise to stop slickin' your curls back with tonic?

"Uh, you wanna take these petticoats off? For your nap, I mean?"

"Sure."

"Say, those are awful fancy little drawers you got on there, Miss."

"I figured you'd like those. And watch the hands, Marshal. I see where they're headed. I wasn't born yesterday. And you didn't answer my question."

"Question?"

"Why are you slickin' your hair back?"

"Well…like you say, Kitty. Mr. Teeters says it's fashionable. For men."

"Ha! Matt Dillon worried about fashion. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Well, what if I just shake 'em loose in here?"

"Shake loose your curls, huh?"

He blushed. "Yeah. Just with you?"

"That'll work for starters. Come 'ere, Cowboy, and lemme at them curls."

"Only if you let me take a nap with you."

"Nap, my foot. You looked like you had a nap gleaming in your eye when you walked in here."

"It was that purple dress that did it, Kitty. Purple dresses put me in mind of a nap every time."

"Orchid."

"Huh?"

"Orchid dress."

"Whatever you say, honey. All I know is it's so purty on you, it makes me sit up and wanna take a nap with you…"

"Matt Dillon, did I ever tell you you're full of horsesh-"

"Yes, you did. But you love me anyway, don't ya?"

"Yes, I sure do. Now, come 'ere and kiss me, Marshall Dillon, before we take our little nap. And whatever else you might have in mind for this here law-abiding citizen of Dodge."

end

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	5. Aching for Him

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

"Aching for Him"

by Lilyjack

 _This one's a little spicey. Just sayin', cause some folks like their Matt & Kitty a mite more bland-tasting. I just thought I'd do the neighborly thing and warn you. I don't wish to fall victim to any nasty litigation for unwittingly setting some reader's drawers afire or sending them into years of therapy after offending their delicate sensibilities. Jeepers. Proceed at yer own risk. ;-) (It's not that bad. I am a terrible liar.)_

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She positively ached for him some nights, hugging his feather pillow tightly to her chest. She'd breathe deeply the musky male scent he'd left behind on the cool cotton casing and curl up on the sheets on his side of the bed. Truth be told, the man was so big that when he slept with her he took up most of the damn bed all by himself. But his breath-taking size was one of the things that attracted her to him in the first place. She imagined her tall, broad-shouldered cowboy and touched herself, pretending it was his big hands on her flesh, imagining what he'd do to her, what he'd whisper hotly in her ear. Her cheeks flushed with desire, her body responded to her phantom lover until she cried out his name and fell asleep exhausted yet frustrated because, of course, it never felt the same as when she was actually with him. How could it? He could stir up a passion inside of her like a prairie fire, like no man had ever done before and she realized no one else ever would. This man's love had made her feel things and do things that she'd never known she was capable of. Yes, he'd stoked a fire inside of her alright.

Unfortunately, she didn't have him lying beside her right now, that big furnace of a man who heated up a bed so much that she often had to sleep naked, even when there was a winter chill in the room or when they were both too damn tired to make love. Hard to imagine there were indeed times when she was too worn out to engage in a night of moaning passion with the handsomest man, the kindest, most gentle and bravest man she'd ever laid eyes on. But there were.

There were some summer nights when Dodge City lived up to her Cowtown name, and Kitty spent her entire evening hurriedly carrying heavy trays of drinks to brash young bucks straight off the trail while also gracefully putting up with their hijinks and fending off their drunken advances. Matt, likewise, would spend his evening on high alert, stopping trouble before it started, breaking up drunken fights, and hauling the miscreants to jail. Summers could prove highly exhausting, depending on the temperament of the outfit that rode in, but they were all pretty much hell-bent on creating as much mischief as humanly possible. That meant more money for her, but more stress for her lover. So both of them often ended up tuckered out in a heap on her bed at the end of a long day.

But it was a pleasure just simply lying next to her man, whether they were making love or not. Yes, her man's big, heated body could make her sweat just lying next to him. He liked it better when she slept naked anyway. She'd complain that he was making her hotter than fire again, rise to her knees on the mattress and strip her nightdress over her head. She could feel rather than see his scorching gaze on her bare skin, just like the way he looked at her in the Long Branch sometimes right in front of everybody. She wondered if anyone ever noticed. He usually never said a word out loud, but he said plenty with his eyes.

Then she'd drop her nightgown to the floor, letting him get a good look before she slid down under the sheet with him. He'd gather her into his long arms, corded with muscles, his big hands caressing the silky skin of her back, sliding over her round bottom, her thighs and calves, and oh, he loved cupping her bare breasts in his large palms just like they were made to fit there. Then he'd trail a hand languidly over her ribs and down her belly, threading his fingers through the auburn curls to where her pulse now throbbed steadily and insistently, just thinking about him touching her intimately. She sighed and her eyes fluttered closed while she opened her thighs for him.

But he wasn't there. He was out on the Kansas prairie somewhere. Escorting a dangerous prisoner to Hays City for hanging. She wondered if he was missing her just as badly as she was missing him. But she doubted anyone could ever miss a person as much as she missed Matt Dillon some nights. The ache of his absence was palpable, just like a piece of her was missing. Kitty knew she had it bad for that big man, and there was little hope of ever getting over him. She reckoned she'd just have to get used to it.

The ache in her chest now matched the ache in her tender woman's flesh, pulse for pulse, and she squeezed that pillow even tighter. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Just then, a key turned in the lock of the door at the back stairs. Her breath caught in her throat and she sat up, hugging his pillow to her breast as she watched a familiar tall figure standing in the open door silhouetted against the moonlight.

"You awake, honey? Sorry I'm here so late…" He removed his hat and hesitated where he stood. "…but I just got back from Hays and I needed to… Well, I just missed you is all. You don't mind…?"

"Oh, Matt…"

end

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	6. A Little Scruffy

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes through the Years**_

 _Thank you again for the outrageously thoughtful notes. Most days they are the cherry on the cake of my day. No kidding. I am quite behind in replying via PM to those of you who have accounts but I swear to goodness I will get to it soon. It is just a crazy busy time of year. But I do appreciate the encouragement—it keeps an author posting for sure. Here's another quickie reflection on my favorite couple's unique relationship._

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"A Little Scruffy"

by Lilyjack

Most occasions when Matt Dillon returned home to Dodge City from a lengthy official trip across the dusty Kansas prairie, he'd make a special effort to clean up before visiting Kitty Russell. He'd wash up, comb his hair and dig out a change of fresh clothing. He'd give himself a close shave with a straight razor, grimacing and squinting as he turned his head this way and that in front of the small mirror that hung inside the front door of the jail right over the wash basin. Oftentimes he'd even soak in a steaming hot bath at Frank Teeter's Tonsorial Parlor and emerge redolent with soap and hair tonic and spicy bay rum. His cheeks would be smooth and tender as a baby's skin, and her lips would whisper-glide over them, petal-soft, when she kissed him hello and inhaled his delicious scent.

But other times, he'd come straight off the lonesome trail to her bed, anxious to see her, to touch her, to make slow, deliberate love, to talk and laugh with her, to hold her close…to remind him of his humanity. Dealing with the lowest level of society, day in and day out, being forced to kill men not only to survive but in the name of duty…it exacted an expensive toll on a man's soul. Kitty Russell was his lifeline in a storm-tossed sea of hate, dishonesty, and cruelty. She represented love and beauty and kindness and everything that was good and sane and just plain right in his life. So sometimes he couldn't wait to see her. Sometimes the niceties like shaving and combing his hair had to wait, and she understood.

Besides, she didn't mind. She liked her man a mite scruffy once in a while, a little rough around the edges. She bit her bottom lip as she imagined his sandpapery-stubbled, unshaven whiskers contrasted against the softness of his lips, both trailing tenderly over her thighs, the memory raising gooseflesh of sensual arousal on her skin even now while she lay in her bed alone.

Reclining atop the tousled sheets, she wore a gauzy summer nightgown that clung to her skin in the sultry night air. She sighed, deeply yearning that Matt would hurry home to her. It had been a long day with several new cattle outfits arriving on the outskirts of the city—brash young cowhands strutting into town with their pockets full of money and their heads full of devilment. This time of year was much easier when Matt was close by to help handle the troublemakers. But unfortunately, he'd been away more than a week now chasing down that murderer Doss Revlett. Surely to goodness he'd be back soon.

Kitty'd had three blasted fistfights one after another in the Long Branch today, each one worse than the other. Then there was another altercation over her pretty new girl Aurelia that'd ended in a nasty knife wound in one unlucky combatant requiring stitches from Doc. To top it off, she'd had to endure a stern lecture from Doc about the wisdom of owning such a dangerous business, and why in the Sam Hill wasn't she off living on a ranch somewhere - safe, married and having babies?

 _Hmph_ , she thought. _Why, indeed? Why don't you go ask a certain tall…?_

"You awake, honey?

She started at the sound of a key in the latch and a familiar deep voice calling quietly from the open door at the back stairs, a towering figure, hand poised uncertainly on the knob. The room was full-moon bright, light spilling through the open window. Night noises swelled in waves atop the palpably humid air – insects and frogs singing, dogs barking, men's voices as they laughed, drank, caroused, and females coyly plying their trade.

Matt's shoulders were still dusty from the tiresome long ride, his shirt damp with sweat, his musky male scent mingling with the odors of horses and leather, gun oil and prairie sage. It was a heady combination and she chewed on her lower lip again, smiled a welcome that carried to her sparkling eyes. His hair, after he removed his hat and tossed it without looking onto a nearby table, was riotous, a few curls plastered to his perspiring forehead above his heated blue gaze, turned silver in the moonlight.

"I'm waitin' for you, Cowboy," was her throaty reply as she raised up on her elbows and bent her knees, inviting him closer. He wasted no time. He needed her warmth, her heart, her goodness. He lifted her soft-spun gown and showered her soft, yielding skin with kisses. Her fingers threaded through his damp curls as she sighed, "Was it a bad trip, Matt?"

He paused only an instant, a moment's hesitation in his devoted attention to her bare body, "I don't wanna talk about it right now, honey." He slid the flat of his huge palm across her belly, murmuring, "So soft…"

She kissed his forehead silently in reply, and he bowed his head again, trailing his lips over her nakedness, the stubble of his beard gently brushing over her sensitive skin. She sucked in a breath of ecstasy when she felt his warm mouth tasting her, and she thought she might shatter instantly. "Oh, Matt…" she whispered. Her head fell back, red hair cascading over her shoulders. She exhaled in her sensual, smoky voice, "I've missed you…"

Her trail-dusty lover began unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants. He gazed down at his flushed beauty with hooded eyes, "Not as much as I missed you, sweetheart… Not near as much as I've missed you. Now c'mere."

He slipped an arm around to the small of her back as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her entire body thrumming in anticipation. Their eyes locked and she could read his pent-up emotion. She worriedly whispered, "You'll tell me about it later?"

"I'll tell you about it later. I just wanna hold you right now."

"Kiss me first."

"I'll kiss you as many times as you want, sweetheart."

The earnest expression on his handsome face and the little catch in his voice when he said it made her chest ache.

He murmured against her mouth, "Your lips are so soft… I'm awful glad you weren't asleep."

"I would have woken up for you, Cowboy." She held him close as he kissed her again and again, her arms encircling and caressing him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

They would have plenty of time to talk later. She knew that right now her handsome, scruffy man just needed her to love him.

end

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	7. A Private Relationship

**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**

 _Thank you all again for the thoughtful and touching reviews on this collection of little vignettes, until I can thank you personally. This is an essay that meanders quite a bit, I'm afraid, but it encompasses the theme o' the day, our favorite couple's very private nature, which makes them all the more intriguing and mysterious and fanfic-worthy. Thanks a bushel for reading, lj  
_

"A Private Relationship"  
by Lilyjack

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He was the first man to ever treat her with such respect and care and wholehearted concern for her welfare, sentiments he didn't exactly flaunt in public, but despite that, she was acutely aware of his feelings in every gesture, every look, every word, every fleeting touch from him. Matt Dillon had never been the overtly demonstrative type, after all. Not in front of other folks, that is. Behind closed doors, when it was just the two of them secluded in the comforting, sheltering, clandestine haven of her rooms, it was another story entirely, of course. But around people, even in front of hard-bitten, tough men, he always behaved like a perfect gentleman toward her-polite, respectful, even deferential to her opinion. That was something a woman didn't stumble across every day, especially out here on the untamed frontier where men tended to be rough around the edges and even a little wild. If a woman was lucky enough to find that in a man, he was worth his weight in gold. She had better hold onto him with both hands, and she'd best hold on tight.

Matt Dillon was sure worth holding onto. He was different from any other man she'd ever known in so many ways. Oh, she teased him often enough with her not-so-flattering opinion of men in general, but he was well aware that most of the time, at least, her opinion of him was head and shoulders above all the rest. First off, he didn't treat her like a second-class citizen just because she was a woman. He treated her like an equal. He valued her opinion and took it under careful consideration even when it concerned decisions pertaining to his duties. That's because he trusted her fine-tuned instincts when it came to people, and sometimes those people turned out to be as deceitful as she often warned him. Matt also admired her accomplishments, her intelligence, bravery and strength of character. Rocking back on his heels, he'd cross his arms and push that Stetson back on his forehead. Then he'd look her straight in the eye and tell her she had sand. Sand and savvy. That made her feel real proud because he valued those very characteristics in a man.

On the other hand, he treasured her womanly ways and her singular female loveliness that at times took his breath clean away and caused him to stare unabashedly at her during unguarded moments. And he wholeheartedly savored their often-elusive private time together when he could be just plain old Matt relishing a quiet, intimate tryst with his beautiful, flaming-haired girl. She indeed felt cherished when they were alone, hidden away discreetly in her bedroom, safe from the world. No one else in her entire life had ever made her feel the way he could. Because no one had ever accepted her for who she was, on her terms, the way Matt Dillon had.

When she'd first laid eyes on him in that little café during breakfast many years gone by now, when she'd just rolled into depressing Dodge City on a rickety stage with a miserable, drizzling, persistent rain overhead and fallen hard for him at first sight, she'd admittedly been worried. Worried she didn't have a chance in hell of winning his heart in return. Because she'd quickly discovered that big, handsome man polishing off his huge breakfast was a lawman. And she was just a working girl. And he wasn't a crooked lawman, a lawman on the take, one with easy morals, no sir. He was an honest man, an upright man, a man with principles and morals to spare. Or so everyone she spoke with told her. That was the reputation that preceded him. Kitty didn't think such an austere man would give a mere working girl the time of day. She'd be lucky if he didn't toss her in the hoosegow for city ethics code violations.

But as it turned out, after she finally met the big man himself, he didn't give a damn how she made her living. He knew she'd done what she'd had to do to keep body and soul together, to put food in her belly and a roof over her head. What mattered to him was the kind of person she was. The content of her character, so to speak.

They'd become fast friends. And as time went on, they were drawn even closer together, he and she. It'd seemed like destiny, as the poets might say. Or fate. Call it what you will. She just knew that when she'd first set eyes on him, a hunger for that big man started smoldering in her belly and steadily grew inside her like a fire licking up higher and higher until it encompassed both her heart and her head. She never had a chance or a choice.

Yes, Matt Dillon was different from the rest, all right. He was mighty proud of his girl's accomplishments, even if that meant she eventually made more money than he did. That fact would've hurt most men's pride, but it didn't bother him a lick. He highly respected what Kitty Russell had managed to achieve all by herself, rising from working girl to half owner of the Long Branch and then on to full owner. He happily crowed that he'd never seen such swift determination even in a man, and he good-naturedly teased he was glad that she was on _his_ side of the law. But she observed the soft gleam in his eye and the fond smile when he said it, and she recognized the expression of pure admiration for his ambitious girl. He didn't fool anybody, most especially not her.

Kitty had quickly realized she'd probably never wear Matt's ring, even though they'd gone round and round about that subject over the years to no avail. He was dead set against the idea of marriage, seeing as how he figured that as a U.S. Marshal he was living on borrowed time already. Well, he'd done pretty damn well so far, considering the number of times he'd been wounded and lived to tell about it. But that was beside the point. He had it in his hard head he didn't want to get hitched and Matt Dillon was a stubborn man. She wasn't going to change that about him. Besides, she figured the two of them had a better relationship than most of the married couples around Dodge, if you asked her. A lot of them seemed pretty miserable in their domestic lives, and for the most part, she and Matt were quite blissful in the time they spent together. She couldn't ask for any more than the "understanding" they'd shared for all these years, she supposed. _Non-permanent, my eye_ , she thought, with a smirk.

Well, now, on second thought, the one thing she might have changed about their relationship might have been the addition of a child, just one, but whenever she broached the subject, Matt's face blanched, his eyes grew wide and his breathing erratic. She'd begun hankering for a child of her own in earnest after Baby Mary came to stay with her and then had to be given away, just like that. Her head had known it was best for the baby, but her heart knew it certainly hadn't been best for her. It nearly broke half in two.

That was when she began talking to Matt seriously about a baby, since her child-bearing years were now growing short. And that's when he finally shared the whole story recounting how he really lost his mother when he was just a boy. For three torturous days and nights, she'd lain in childbed before her pain-wracked, swollen body had finally given out on her. His pa had been away on duty and Matt had been home alone with his ma, bathing her face with cool, damp cloths in the Texas summer heat, holding a tin dipper of water to her parched, cracked lips. No neighbors lived nearby, and she gasped a frightened plea for him to stay with her, to not leave her alone, as her glassy blue eyes sought his. How was a boy to say no to his mother? He'd been terrified, ineffectual, and defeated when she died along with the baby inside of her. He'd dug her grave on a low hill under a scrub oak and cried over the fresh mound until his eyes were near swollen shut.

And that's when Matt gazed at Kitty with a haunted look in his eyes and pleaded with her to please not think about having babies. Having babies in this world was not safe, he explained hoarsely. Not for the mother carrying them and not for the babies, if they belonged to a U.S. Marshal. No one who belonged to a hated man was safe. She had held him close and tried to put babies out of her mind.

Kitty realized that Matt always tried to keep their relationship private because he believed that the spoilers he chased down and punished for a living would use her against him, would hurt her. But ironically, his plan had not succeeded one blasted iota. She'd been kidnapped and much worse more times than she could count. The fact remained that even though the two of them kept their relationship very private and behind closed doors for the most part, and they indeed did not have that little piece of paper to make their union official and public, Matt pretty much wore his feelings for her quietly on his sleeve. People knew darn well that Matt was doing more than escorting Kitty to Delmonico's for breakfast. They hadn't just fallen off the turnip truck, you know. Matt didn't have to shout his feelings for Kitty from the rooftops, but it still showed.

Kitty imagined some particularly perceptive folks might be able to read her feelings for the big marshal as well. Though she tried to wear her best poker face in public, she was sure there were times when her true emotions had shone through as well. How could they not when she loved the man as much as she did?

Matt Dillon was not only a gentleman in his public behavior with the first lady of the Long Branch, he was a gentle lover behind closed doors as well. For such a big, strong, and, when the situation called for it, ruthless lawman, he was very generous and considerate when it came to matters of the bedroom. He'd eagerly learned quite a few things from Kitty about how to please a woman. But she admittedly had learned plenty from him, as strange as it may have seemed coming from a gal who had previously earned her living satisfying men.

And while she was not proud of her former occupation as a working girl, she'd only considered it a job, a means to an end. The alternatives for a female alone in the world with no family to speak of, no money, and no prospects…well, the outlook was dim at best. When she was told her most valuable assets were her beauty and charm, she realized there weren't many occupations fitting that particular bill. But anyone who thought a woman enjoyed the profession of "soiled dove," as the cowboys called it, was crazy. The men she took upstairs she considered just money in her pocket, a seemingly unending line of no-name, mind-numbing experiences that left her unhappy and unfulfilled, always worried about disease and violence. Until she met Matt Dillon. Love was what made the difference. The act of sex meant nothing until she made love with him.

And impossible as it seemed, she only loved him more and more as they grew older. Just as they became emotionally closer over the years, they became infinitely more intimately acquainted with each other's bodies as well and learned how to deeply satisfy one another. Any residual shyness or reservation of youth and inexperience gave way to a complete ease and comfort they felt, allowing them to discover new ways to best please their lover.

And the older Kitty became the more her physical need for him grew, truth be told. She thought it interesting, how her appetite for him increased along with her increasing years. Well, at least Matt didn't seem to mind a'tall. Luckily the man's physical dexterity and stamina, legendary in his reputation as a lawman, carried over into the bedroom as well, so he could keep up with her. Most of the time. She pretty much wore him to a frazzle some nights to be perfectly frank. At least he fell asleep with a happy, albeit exhausted, smile on his rugged, handsome face.

Matt had always been an ardent man and a detail-oriented lover, perhaps thanks to his experience as a lawman, having to read people and pay close attention to his surroundings. He had indeed learned the mysterious ways of her womanly body well, learning how to bring her to the pinnacle of explosive passion. His touches, his kisses, his caresses—his heated lovemaking with whispered words of pure devotion could leave Kitty devastated, white light exploding behind her eyes and tender swollen flesh, secret intimate muscles spasming in ecstasy, skin soaked with perspiration; afterwards she was breathless, her legs trembling, muscles weak, her entire body spent as he lay close and held her. He was breathless too, brushing her hair from her face and asking if she was alright. She loved him so much her chest ached with the fullness of it. No one had ever had that kind of effect on her except one man, and that man was Matt Dillon. He was the first, and she knew he would be the last-her gentle, giving, passionate lawman.

end

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	8. Last Nights

_**A Passionate Understanding**_

 _More brief ponderings on our favorite unscripted yet absolutely obvious romantic relationship on the tv screen. They weren't kidding anybody. Even the governor & every outlaw in the state of Kansas knew about them, right? ;-) I've had this mostly written up for a while, but I have been living in Crazytown for the past week or more. Just polished and plumped it up for your enjoyment. Well, I hope you enjoy it anyway... Thanks for reading, lj_

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"Last Nights"

by Lilyjack

Last nights before the U.S. Marshal stationed in Dodge City had to leave town on official duty were especially restless and urgent, bittersweet and intense. For Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell never knew whether it very well might be their last night on earth together. On an average day around the busy, burgeoning cowtown bursting with every variety of vice known to man, the lawman's job often proved lethal, although thankfully, so far, only to his unfortunate opponents. But on an official trip, one where he was often escorting deadly, desperate criminals, the peril increased dramatically by the hour, usually the closer they arrived to the hanging scaffold. So while Matt's job was frequently treacherous whenever he was at home in Dodge, away on duty, Kitty knew he was in constant, unrelenting danger. Therefore those last nights spent together before an official journey were always deeply bittersweet, restlessly urgent, steeped and strained in silent uncertainty and unspoken apprehension.

When he departed from the front of the Marshal's office, busily packing up his saddlebags, tying on his bedroll and tightening the cinch on Buck's saddle, Kitty might sometimes approach for one last farewell. There were no public displays, no big goodbyes, just a brave, fervent, "Be careful, Matt." She'd swallow hard and offer him a tight smile, and he'd tip his hat, gentlemanlike, in reply. Their goodbyes had been said the night before, the memory of it reflected wordlessly in their eyes. Their passionate relationship remained extremely private.

On those last nights before a big trip, they always attempted to pretend nothing was any different. That it was just another ordinary evening spent together. They'd have supper, make small talk, discuss their day. He'd tell her about the fights he'd had to break up at the other saloons and Mr. Walters' milk cows wandering into the Widow Winford's prize vegetable garden with the ensuing ruckus. She'd relate to him circumventing a near scuffle between Tuck Morris and his twin brother Myrl, all liquored up and ready to tussle over her beautiful new girl from Topeka, Jilly Bean. She'd stood between the boys and talked them down until they were, bold as brass, asking Kitty herself to marry them, squabbling good-naturedly for the right to escort her back to the bar where she'd promised them free drinks on the house. Matt had fussed at her sternly for stepping between those two big, ornery fellows when she could've gotten seriously hurt, and she'd waved her hand at him dismissively. But there was no mistaking the quiet pride in his eyes at his girl's grit.

But the whole time they were play-acting that everything was normal, her belly was churning along with the foreboding thoughts in her head. Matt would be escorting a dangerous prisoner, Newt Monger, to Hays City to hang for the crime of robbery and murder, and they would set off at dawn. Since Monger had gang members still at large, Matt had agreed to taking Quint along, leaving Festus to look after things in town, but that didn't serve to ease her mind too awful much. The times that Matt had run into deadly trouble or been shot or injured on trips like these were too numerous to count. So each time he left, she never knew if she'd ever lay eyes on his living, breathing body again.

You'd think she would become used to his absences, these dangerous trips he took, but no, the older she got, the worse her anxiety became. The carefree days of youth were over for her, it seemed, and the realities of Matt's job, his duties, and the very real deadly perils it entailed were a weight on her heart and mind, worse when they were separated and she didn't know how he fared out there on the Kansas prairie with no way to communicate between occasional wires. When he remembered to send one, that was.

So that evening on the settee in her room, as they casually discussed their day, she slid closer, drawn to his warmth, to the very bone and blood of him that was alive and well right here sitting beside her for this moment. After that, they had no guarantees. She lay her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his middle, listening to him talk, his deep voice reverberating through her own body, thrumming with life and reassuring her that everything was alright and this trip would turn out just fine, sure it would, while his long arms slid round her shoulders and back, pressing her closer. Tucking a long lock of hair back, she rested her ear on his barrel of a chest and listened to his heart thumping like an Indian drum, another comfort to her that her man who'd fought a hundred battles and won would return to her again this time.

"I'll be back on Saturday, in time to take you to the barn dance."

She cut sapphire eyes up at him.

He reiterated, "Promise."

She chuffed out a laugh and slipped her arms up around his neck, "I'm not too concerned about the damn dance this time…Marshal." She teased her fingers through his wavy hair in back. His eyes closed and he hummed low in his throat in satisfaction.

"I'll be back, Kitty. In time. Cross m' heart." He attempted to inflect a lightness to his tone for her benefit.

He tilted her chin up, stroked the riotous curls out of her face that she'd only just managed to unpin moments before he arrived. His eyes bore into hers, and she searched his face, the same face she'd fallen in love with years ago, only now more rugged and flinty and determined. It was an honest face and his expression was so earnest at that moment she believed him with every fiber of her being.

Her eyes shone as she replied, "I know you will."

And always on those nights when he had to go away on a dangerous job, they'd kiss and caress and kiss some more until they were breathless, and they'd take their time undressing each other, memorizing the curves and the chiseled lines, even the flaws and the scars that each had come to love about the other.

Their lovemaking was slow but marked with urgency, and sometimes silent tears coursed down Kitty's cheeks when she climaxed with her man. "I just love you so much," she'd explain, as Matt Dillon kissed away her tears, his lips and his breath caressing her damp cheeks as he whispered he'd come back to her again and again until she hushed her crying. Then she'd squeeze him tight and kiss him back with a fierce, urgent passion that took his own breath away.

Yes, her heart was full, and her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, too. For in youth, we don't realize the value of what we have or how tenuous our hold can be on something as ethereal as love. But with age comes wisdom, and Kitty now realized with great certainty that every day she shared with Matt was a blessing. Every moment with a man whose job was as dangerous as his was a gift. But she intended to hold on to that love, and to him, for as long as she possibly could. For she knew that is all any of us can hope to do. Hold on to him until he had ridden out of her life forever, never to return, but she would always be able to cherish the days they had shared together.

"Kiss me again, Matt. Hold me tight."

"We got all night, honey. I'll kiss you till the mornin' comes if you want me to."

"I do want you to, Matt. I do..."

end

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	9. Last Nights,Lingering Fears:Waiting

**_A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years_**

 _I know, I know… I stated from the get-go that these vignettes were all stand-alone little morsels. But then a friend remarked that she was a mite curious regarding whatever became of Matt post- "Last Nights," seeing as how his history with escorting dangerous outlaws like Newt Monger to the gallows in Hays City has not always been so simple or even very successful at times. I decided that the aftermath of Matt & Kitty's last night would fit perfectly with another vignette idea I had cooked up a while back, so here they are perfectly melded as one. Or at least I sure do hope so. It may ameliorate your enjoyment of this tale a particle to read the original "Last Nights" vignette in Ch. 8 of this series or refresh your memory of such, but it is not necessary. This story could just as well stand on its own. Oh, and I'm afraid I've blown the whole "vignette" format out of the water for real and true with this installment. It's a Vignette on Steroids maybe...about five chapters worth. ;-) I hope you like it. Thanks for reading. ~ lj_

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"Last Nights and Lingering Fears"

Part A: Waiting

by Lilyjack

A triumphant cheer burst forth from the pensive crowd, loud enough to raise the rafters of the Long Branch. Most of the saloon's patrons had been gathered round a tense game of poker for some time, the participants gazing fixedly at their cards, sweat beading on foreheads and upper lips this hot summer night. When the winning hand was at last victoriously tossed down upon the green felted table by Finn Hatcher, a good-natured whiskey drummer from Louisville, the assembled cowboys, ranch hands, sodbusters and saloon girls had hooted and applauded for the strapping working man who'd soundly beaten his opponents, among them two railroad executives, a banker and an out-of-town cattle rancher. The players pitched their losing hands upon the piled-up spoils of the game in disgust, gathered their belongings and threaded their way through the animated crowd toward the swinging doors.

Finn, mopping his forehead with a white handkerchief before poking it back into his breast pocket, grinned happily at the elegantly dressed woman standing at his shoulder. "Sure as shootin', you're my good luck charm, Miss Russell. Ain't no doubt about it!" The coal oil lanterns hanging on the walls around the room and overhead reflected in the man's sparkling hazel eyes and cast a golden glow against the deepening shadows of the night.

Kitty Russell shook her head, her fiery upswept curls set off by the subtle sheen of the lavender gray silk dress that clung closely to her womanly silhouette. In spite of the fact that she had been owner of the Long Branch Saloon for over ten years now, none of the young girls in her employ possessed a figure that could compare to hers. Or so she'd been told a time or two before.

Kitty smiled softly as Hatcher clasped her hand in his big grasp, bestowing a wide, white smile upon her. "I'm obliged to ya', Miss Russell."

She protested good-naturedly, "Now, Finn Hatcher, you know very well I'm no good luck charm. You won that game fair and square with nothin' but savvy. You've got a good head for cards on your shoulders."

"Aw, now, Miss Russell…you sure do tease a fella somethin' fierce." He had to speak up to be heard over the excited din. "I certainly 'preciate your business though, and to thank you for usin' your special charms on these here cards tonight, I'll be sure and give you a mighty good deal on my finest whiskey, yes ma'am!"

He relinquished her hand as she took a step back, bestowing another gracious smile. "Well, Finn, you know I can use all the help I can get. A deal on some of your fine Kentucky bourbon is nothin' a saloon owner in her right mind could resist."

A twinkle in the man's eye quickly lit up his face as his long arms encircled the winnings on the table, dragging them toward him. He shouted, "Drinks for ever'body, on me!"

Another uproarious hurrah from the crowd seemed to make the very walls of the establishment shake, and Kitty couldn't help but chuckle quietly as she reached to put a hand on Hatcher's shoulder. "Finn, don't spend all your winnings on beer for this rowdy bunch."

The whiskey drummer with expressive eyes, a sensitive mouth and unruly dark hair quickly replied, "As long as the money was to help you out, Miss Russell, I wouldn't mind spendin' ever' last dime of my winnin's. Not one little bit."

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she watched the customers crowd around her tall, wizened barkeep. Sam Noonan's powerful hands belied their large size as they moved gracefully to balance delicate glassware, several in one hand, filling them with yeasty amber brew and sending one foaming mug after another sliding down the polished bar into eager patrons' hands.

The drummer followed Kitty's distracted gaze to Sam and her part-time bartender Joe at work, pouring whiskey shots as fast as he could grab clean glasses. Hatcher continued lightly, attempting to make her blue eyes dance like they customarily did, "I just wisht all my customers was as purty and charming as you are. Cain't think of a one that holds a candle to you."

The amiable Finn Hatcher had taken over the sales route his fellow whiskey drummer and friend Eddie Fitch had held when the man had died unexpectedly in the way many men out here in the west expired—through violent means. One of his old customers, Stella Damon, had shot him and left him lying in the raging inferno of her newly built saloon, a veritable palace by Dodge City standards. Now it had been turned to ashes on the dusty vacant lot.

Before Eddie's untimely demise, whenever he and Finn Hatcher had ended up in the same town, they'd gotten together and swapped stories of their travels. Finn was always eager to hear news of the famous blazing-haired proprietress of the Long Branch who sometimes had a temper to match her hair. He felt as though he already knew her when he first came to visit her establishment over… now, could it really be so long that Eddie had been gone? Two years or more? He and Miss Kitty Russell had formed a fast friendship forged in the mutual sadness they felt over Eddie's death, and spent many nights in the saloon or occasionally a dinner out reminiscing about the charming Eddie Fitch.

"You're a good man, Finn." Kitty smiled again at the drummer's obvious but undeniably heart-warming flattery.

He noticed, though, that her smile died before it ever reached her eyes. Her gaze was instead drawn to the batwing doors when they swung inward, downcast when she seemed disappointed at the stranger who entered there. She'd been watching the saloon entrance all evening, he'd observed, watching and waiting it seemed.

Finn's gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he pressed his lips together. Then he drew up a chair for Kitty to sit beside him. She began to shake her head and make excuses that she needed to go help out behind the bar, but he patted the seat firmly, looking at her with kind eyes. "Have a seat, lovely lady. You surely deserve to set down and rest a spell now, don'tcha?"

The fine silk of her dress rustled softly as she wordlessly obliged him, releasing a nearly imperceptible sigh as she straightened her skirts. Close up, just inches away, Finn noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. He averted his gaze downward to stack his winnings neatly in rows on the green felt, clearing his throat. "Where, uh…where's that big ol' marshal that tends to hang around here so much?"

Kitty shot him a look, then busied herself smoothing away a nonexistent wrinkle from her silk sleeve. Her tone was flat and neutral. "He's outta town."

Finn motioned to the extra barkeep for two glasses and a bottle. "It's just I been in Dodge nearly three whole days and haven't seen hide nor hair of him. That's kinda unusual, ain't it? Seein' as how you two seem to be purty good friends and all." He gave her a wistful smile, his greenish brown eyes carefully observing her expression.

"You notice a lot."

"When you're in my line a' work it pays to notice things."

A corner of her precisely painted lips quirked upward. "You sound like Matt."

"Do I, now?"

"Yep." Kitty stared at the drink Hatcher poured for her. She placed a hand on it but then just absently turned it in circles.

Raking a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, he mulled, "I see."

"You do?" It was more of a challenge than a question, her best poker face firmly in place.

"Yes, well, I guess even though our occupations aren't remotely alike, the marshal and I both find it helpful to study folks."

"So I suppose you've been studyin' me, huh…" Her eyes were drawn to the inward sway of the batwing doors again, but reluctantly returned to him when three young bucks burst into view, laughing uproariously at some private joke, seemingly not a care in the world.

"Maybe a little bit," he admitted, sipping his whiskey, watching her over the rim of his glass.

She tilted tired eyes up at him, forcing her tone to sound playful. "A little? I don't know as how I like bein' studied at all." Another sigh. "Finn, I should be gettin' back to work now…"

"Aw, come on' now, Miss Russell. I can see you're feelin' a little tuckered out. Just set a spell and visit with me—whatcha say?"

She lifted a manicured brow and pursed her lips, archly replying, "You're sayin' I look worn out? Finn, that's no way to talk to a lady."

"Oh, gracious no," he exclaimed in good humor. "You look like a vision as always, Miss Russell. Trust me." His lips turned up at the corners, his eyes twinkling, and she couldn't help but softly smile back at him.

"Oh, Finn,' She shook her head and made a humorless sound that passed for a laugh. "You're incorrigible. I don't feel much like a vision right about now, truth be told."

"Well, I do know that you don't appear to be your usual vivacious self, my dear." He crossed his arms and quietly examined her tension-filled expression. The bluest eyes he'd ever seen in all his born days had seemed unfocused that evening, often staring into space, and he'd discreetly gazed at the swell of her beautiful breasts over the low scoop-necked lavender dress as she'd sighed deeply and often. Finn hadn't been teasing her at all when he'd said she was a vision, in spite of being tired and obviously out-of-sorts. She was even wearing her hair differently tonight. Softer, looser, like she hadn't taken the time to twist it up tight like usual. But Finn liked it. It almost looked as if he reached out and quickly plucked out her fancy tortoiseshell comb, it would all come tumbling down her back and white shoulders in a mass of shining curls, the way ladies wore their hair only in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

"Finn?" She was looking at him expectantly.

He started. "Yes! I'm sorry, I was just wonderin'… Usin' my salesman's all-seeing eye, ya see… I was just wonderin' what's got you so worried. I mean, you don't hafta tell me if you don't want to. I don't wanna be too forward. I cain't lie to ya' now-I'm just concerned is all, Miss Russell."

"Finn…" She gave another deep sigh, then reluctantly replied, "There's really nothing you can do to help." She spoke in quiet, dulcet tones, and he had to lean closer to hear her over the din of the bar's noisy revelers.

"Your troubles wouldn't have anything to do with that big marshal now, would it?" He lowered his own voice.

Kitty hedged, avoiding his question. "You really are kind to be concerned, Finn."

Hazel eyes took on a wary expression. "I was afraid of that…"

"Afraid of what?"

"Has he gone off and left you high and dry?" His expression turned dark, his posture instantly alert.

"What? Why, what would make you…?" She attempted to keep the astonishment from her tone and to keep her face neutral. She quietly insisted, "No, Finn, you've got it all wrong..."

Finn cast his eyes down as he stammered a bit, "I mean, pardon me, if you will, Miss Russell, for intrudin' upon somethin' of such a private nature, but, well, you did say he was outta town and you've seemed so preoccupied the past couple of evenin's, I just…"

"No, Finn, honestly…" Kitty sighed, her eyes darting to check if anyone was within earshot. Merrymakers drinking free beers paid them no mind, even brothers Myrl and Tuck Morris, who normally pestered her with their good-natured flirtations. They were busy downing their frothy mugs in mere seconds and pounding on the bar for refills. She took a fortifying drink of her own whiskey and softly explained, "Marshal Dillon and Quint Asper went outta town to escort a prisoner to be hanged. In Hays City. Have you heard of Newt Monger?"

"Oh." Finn's dark brows beetled, his face a curious cross between relief and disappointment. He quickly tossed back the rest of his whiskey and gently encouraged her. "I read about that thieving murderer in the papers. Your marshal was the one to capture him, now, ain't that right?"

"He sure was." Her shoulders straightened and her head lifted, her tired eyes shining for a moment in quiet pride.

Finn gazed at her, wistfully wishing he had a woman like Kitty Russell on his side…by his side. He cleared his throat, "So…when do you expect he'll be back?"

A shadow passed over her face. "We got a telegram when he and Quint arrived safely in Hays several days ago…" She looked down at her hands. "…almost a week now."

"Perhaps he was simply…delayed… returnin' home," he offered helpfully.

She pressed her crimson lips together and gave a small affirmative nod, stating matter-of-factly, "I'm sure you're right." But her eyes seemed to lose focus again as if her imagination were getting the best of her.

Finn attempted to lighten the mood, stating airily, "You need to take care of yourself, my dear. Have you been gettin' any rest? Have you eaten?"

"Well, I… Yes, of course…" His questions caught her unaware, and even she realized she didn't sound too convincing.

He firmly interrupted her, "Let's us go to dinner. No sense in settin' around here in this noisy, boisterous crowd, frettin'. Come with me to Delmonico's. How long has it been since you ate a decent meal?"

"Oh, Finn, I wouldn't be good company tonight. But I truly thank you for the offer."

"You've gotta keep your strength up," he kindly cajoled.

Back straight, shoulders squared, she insisted, "I'll be alright. I'll have something later, before I turn in for the night." She lay a hand atop his. "You're a good friend, Finn. I appreciate your concern. But I'm fine, really." She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself as well.

He gave a small, wistful smile at her words. "Thank you kindly, Miss Russell. I consider it an honor

that you call me 'friend.'" It was his turn to sigh as he poured them both another drink.

Kitty was watching Jilly Bean, her new girl from Topeka, talking and laughing with the Morris brothers at the bar, seemingly content now to share Jilly's time instead of fight over her. Jilly handled them expertly, talking and flattering both equally.

Kitty Russell never actively recruited girls like Jilly for this occupation. A female had to be made of stern stuff to withstand the perils and pitfalls of saloon life. She should know. Kitty had clawed her way up from the bottom rung of this establishment as soon as she'd been able, as soon as she'd earned the greenbacks, as soon as she'd laid eyes on the big man who'd made her want to leave that life behind. Made her want to share her bed and her heart with him only.

She glanced from her ruminations back to Finn, caught him guilelessly watching her again, his dark hazel eyes soft.

"You're a wonder, Miss Russell. Anybody ever tell you that? Not many women could run a place like this."

"Not really, Finn. A person just does what they have to do to keep body and soul together."

He argued, "Oh, I hafta disagree, Miss Russell. Life is plumb full a' folks who aren't able to do just that. I think you're one of the exceptions."

"Oh Finn, I'm only…" But then she spotted a familiar figure striding though the batwing doors with purpose, one steely eye squinted, searching the crowd.

The bewhiskered man spotted her and made his way over, spurs jangling, posture tense as he bent down to whisper in her ear, "I found 'im, Miss Kitty. Both of 'em."

She gripped Festus' arm hard, questioning eyes searching his, not breathing.

"He done been shot by that Monger gang, Miss Kitty, but he's alive," Festus muttered darkly. "Where in the Sam Hill is Doc? We looked fer 'im over to his office but he ain't there."

She hastily murmured back, "The whole Harmon family's come down with typhus. Their neighbor sent for Doc, and I haven't seen him for a few days now." She swallowed hard and asked in a hushed voice, "Is it bad?"

"He says it ain't, but you know Matthew. He weren't able to ride, and he's lost a lotta blood. Me and Quint, we brought 'im in on a travois. Quint got beat up purty bad, head's bashed and he could hardly ride hisself, but we got 'im back home."

She whispered urgently, "Take me to him."

Festus squatted down beside her chair, looking up at her. "We done got 'im up the back steps to yer room, Miss Kitty. He wouldn't hear of goin' anywheres else since Doc is gone. Quint's upstairs with 'im right now."

Her face blanched. That didn't sound like Matt at all. What had got into him? "Why, how'd you…?" but she stopped herself before she finished the question. She knew the answer.

Festus glanced around, furtively pressed a key into her hand, avoiding her gaze. "You kin give 'im this back when he's a' feelin' a mite better."

Kitty's eyes darted back to her forgotten drinking companion, the whiskey drummer. She spoke more loudly so that the man could hear her above the noise of the saloon's patrons, "I need to go now, Finn. Something's come up."

She rose hastily, and Finn stood as well. He nodded at Festus knowingly, managing to casually remark, "Don't let me keep you, Miss Russell." He hurriedly bowed. "I realize you're a very busy woman."

She grasped Hatcher's forearm, hastily breathing, "Thank you, Finn, for everything."

He watched pensively as she threaded her way through the crowd and then swept up the stairs, the bowlegged hill man in tow.

tbc

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	10. Last Nights,Lingering Fears: Converging

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _A bushel basketful of thanks to my medical technical advisor, LadyBrit. I myself am not a doctor, nor do I play one on tv, so any inaccuracies, exaggerations or lapses within are entirely for the sake of drama, angst and thrills galore. (That means I just make stuff up because it sounds good –the prerogative of a fiction writer.) The following contains flashback spice, so beware if you don't wanna get your eyebrows a mite singed. Hope you enjoy it, even if it toasts yer buns._

And thank you kindly for all the thoughtful notes of encouragement, until I can respond individually. Dear readers, you are the cherry on the cake of my day. And the scoop of homemade ice cream on the side. With sprinkles.

 **Chapter 10 "Last Nights and Lingering Fears"**

 **Part B: Converging**

by Lilyjack

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Kitty fumbled with the heavy, ornate key Festus had secreted into her palm downstairs, cursing quietly until she heard the lock to her door finally snick open. She held her breath while pushing it ajar with a little creak, heart in her throat wondering what state she would find Matt Dillon in this time. The room was very dim, one small lamp lit by the bedside, a silhouetted figure she assumed was Quint muttering as he attempted to light another match, swearing softly when it snapped in two in his fingers. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom, and then she strode to the bedside where Matt lay very still. Beads of perspiration covered his ashen face and neck and his eyes were closed. Her heart sank. "Matt?" she breathed, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He didn't stir.

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as fear gripped her chest. "Matt, can you hear me?" She was vaguely aware of the second lamp finally being lit and Quint sliding slowly down into a chair across the room with a grunt. Her fingers came in contact with something warm and sticky, seeping through a makeshift bandage beneath Matt's shirt, and the iron tang of it in her nostrils and the back of her throat made her stomach knot. "Matt?" she repeated, desperate to hear his voice.

Festus answered, "Miss Kitty, he ain't uttered nary a word since he asked us to bring him up hyere to you." He removed his hat, shifted his weight on his feet. "I don't think he kin hear ya' now."

"What happened?" she asked in a shaky whisper. "Is this his only bullet wound?" She contemplated grimly, they should be so lucky.

Quint spoke at last, his voice noticeably faint, "Yeah…just shot once. But once…was plenty." Quint told her what had transpired out there on the prairie while she methodically unbuttoned Matt's shirt and unwrapped the bandanna wound round his bleeding shoulder. He quietly explained that Newt Monger's gang hadn't made it in time to save their leader from the noose, but the outlaws had exacted their revenge after all, ambushing Matt Dillon and Quint on their return trip to Dodge, shooting the duo's horses out from under them. They'd left the two men unconscious, bleeding, and presumed by Newt's cronies to be dead or dying. Luckily Matt Dillon's constitution was substantially stronger than the villains ever could have imagined.

Kitty attempted to lift Matt's shoulder to check if there was an exit wound on his back.

The exhausted voice from the chair spoke again, "No need to check. The bullet's still in there."

Kitty paled at Quint's flat statement, firmly pressing a clean rag against Matt's shoulder to slow the bleeding. She spoke in a voice more confident that she felt, "Then that bullet's gotta come out."

Festus, standing silently nearby until that moment, spoke up, "But Doc ain't hyere and we don't know when he's a' comin' back. What'll we do?"

A hoarse, breathless voice haltingly spoke up from the bed, "Kitty can do it."

Kitty's head whipped back around to stare at the speaker who was sweating profusely and gazing at her through squinted eyes glazed with pain. His fingers inched towards hers on the bedcovers, slipped warmly over her hand.

"Oh, Matt, I can't…"

"Yeah…you can. How often…have you watched Doc…" He stopped and took a shallow, painful breath. "…takin' bullets outta me…before?"

"But, Matt, watchin' and doin' are two different things entirely."

Quint spoke softly from the chair again, "He's right, Kitty. You help Doc sometimes in surgery. That bullet's already been in there…too long. 's'gotta come out now. You get my vote."

Kitty peered across the room closely at Quint's shadowy form for the first time. "Quint, your head is bleeding badly! Let me help you…"

Quint held up a palm smeared with blood, both dried and fresh. "No, I'm fine. Matt needs you more."

Festus blustered, "Oh, Comanche's gotta hard head. He'll be right as rain in no time a'tall. We gotta stop the bleedin' in Matthew's shoulder though."

"Well, I…" Kitty looked flustered. "…I'm gonna need some supplies."

"You reckon the old scudder took all his doctorin' thangs with 'im?"

Kitty answered, "Surely not. He can't carry everything in that black bag of his." She then began to describe to Festus the items in Doc's office that he used to extract bullets and stitch up wounds. "Look on the wooden shelf next to the door. See if there's an enameled metal container with a lid where he keeps forceps."

"For- _what_?"

"Forceps, Festus. One of those metal instruments Doc uses to pull a bullet out with."

"Oh, yeah, I seen them afore plenty a' times."

"There should be a pair of scissors in with them along with his needle. And bring me some cotton wool, bandages and thread. Those are in glass jars. Should be in the same place." She bit her lower lip when she noticed the crimson stain already soaking through the rag she held against Matt's wound and added, "And if you can find some alcohol, bring that, too."

"Alcohol? Why, Miss Kitty, you got plenty a' that right downstairs."

"Alcohol, in a…in a brown glass jar, I think, to clean the wound. We need to use it on Quint, too. Can you remember all that?"

"Yes, ma'am, I kin do that fer ya."

"Oh, and Festus, see if Doc left his extra pair of specs in the top drawer of his desk. I can't hold my lorgnette and work at the same time. Hurry now! We've no time to waste."

"I'll be back faster than you can say 'the rat run over the roof of the house with a piece a' raw liver in 'is mouth!'"

"Oh, and here…hand this clean rag to poor Quint. I've gotta keep pressure on Matt's shoulder."

"Yes'm. Here ya go, Comanche. Hold this hyere to your hard head and I'll be back terrectly."

"Thanks, Festus."

Kitty sat on the bed at Matt's side, wringing cool water from a cloth and placing it on his hot forehead, wishing she could will him better though sheer determination. Her skin prickled in fear when she realized he was unconscious again. But it was fitting she take care of him here in this bed. Her bed was haunted by waking dreams of lying with this man skin to skin, bedclothes muffling their secret cries of ecstasy, naked limbs tangled up in rumpled white sheets damp with their passion. This bed was a place where they marked their love for each other, and she would now care for him here with the same quiet, intense passion she felt for him every day of her life.

Kitty hurried to add a fresh towel to Matt's shoulder atop the first one that was now soaked through with blood. Glancing back to check on Quint who still rested quietly, pressing the cloth to his head wound, her eyes were drawn to the corner of the room nearest her chifforobe full of dresses. Her cheeks flushed with the memory that suddenly rushed over her-a turbulent tryst on a spring day after Matt had engaged in a brutal, bare-fisted fight with that bully Stobo. His opponent was a mean and hateful man who'd very nearly killed Chester Goode, a gentle, loyal soul whom Matt treated like a younger brother. Matt had blamed himself for Chester's injuries, and the incident had nearly eaten him alive with guilt. But after the beating Matt gave that bastard Stobo and following an earnest heart-to-heart with the recuperating Chester, Matt had made his way straight to Kitty.

He had strode into her room that day with a fierce look on his face, riled and moody, still wearing his sweat-soaked and torn clothing, his cheek and eye beginning to swell and bruise. She'd actually unconsciously retreated a few steps away from him, even though she knew in her heart that Matt Dillon would never intentionally hurt her. But he advanced, a smoldering look of naked longing in his eye and her name falling from his lips in an urgent rush. He proceeded to back her into a corner and strip her of clothing from the waist down. She stood paralyzed, gasping in astonishment and sudden arousal. Her heart pounded and the blood began to pulse in her veins, rushing to the pit of her aching belly which lay naked to his fiery gaze. With wide eyes, she'd watched him drop to his knees before her, lifting one of her legs to slide her creamy-skinned knee over his well-muscled shoulder. She'd shivered violently at the combined sensation of air rushing over her exposed sex while Matt's eyes hungrily drank her in, his breathing ragged. He'd touched her with his tongue hesitantly, and when she responded with a shudder and a strangled cry of sheer need, he'd proceeded to eagerly taste her, kiss her, love her with abandon, uttering a primal groan against her enflamed flesh as she responded to his caresses.

Matt had gazed up at her with those clear blue eyes brimming with…want? Need? Did it make a difference? It was absolute passion, regardless. The same intimate look he'd graced her with countless times before downstairs in the Long Branch, only intensified and heated to a boil.

He'd kept on pleasuring her until she fisted her hands in his thick, damp curls and finally had to grab onto the nearby chifforobe to remain upright, she was so lightheaded and weak-kneed. She came so hard she gushed womanly liquid essence with a shocked, delirious cry, and Matt had steadied her with huge, strong hands round her small waist as she wilted over him, cradling his head in her arms. Then he'd risen to his feet and held her flushed face between his palms, touching foreheads for several gasps before he reached down to unbutton his pants and slide his hard, hot length inside her slick body. He pounded her against the wall, their eyes locked with one another, breaths exploding from their mouths with the force of their efforts. He came with a groan, and fell heavily against her in that empty corner of Kitty's room.

And that had been the first time they'd ever made love.

When he'd sufficiently recovered, forehead pressed against the wall over her shoulder, he'd whispered raggedly in her ear, "I'm sorry, Kitty."

And she'd turned her head toward his face, placing a hand on his jaw that was covered in a sheen of sweat. Forcing him to look into her eyes, she'd fervently murmured, "Don't be."

Releasing a shuddering sigh, he'd then gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed, lying her back on the pillows without a word. He had proceeded to finish undressing her with trembling fingers and a fevered expression. Then he lay down by her side, enfolding Kitty in his embrace and kissing her lips with the gentlest kiss she'd ever been gifted. They'd spent the rest of the afternoon in her bed, touching one other's bodies the way they'd already touched each other's hearts. They'd talked even more frankly than they'd ever done as simple friends, and Matt poured out his frustrations and guilty feelings to her-overpowering emotions which eventually, inevitably, had led him to her bedroom at long last. She was the answer to his question.

 _So long ago…_ She sighed as she smoothed the cool cloth over Matt's hot forehead. But the memory of the tastes, the smells, the sight and sound of her man heated to the breaking point, the first intimate caresses in forbidden places seemed like only yesterday. She shivered a little as the passion of that afternoon stirred her again and she looked down at the face of the man who'd done that to her. Who could still do that to her, to this day.

Kitty started when the door at the top of the back stairs burst open. Quint raised up in alarm with a pained groan, but the sudden intruder turned out to be Festus carrying a wooden crate full of softly tinkling jars and bottles from Doc's office.

Quint fell back against the chair tiredly, wondering aloud, "Did Doc leave his door unlocked?"

"Course not, Comanche. Matthew's gotta extry key to Doc's office in 'is desk drawer. Help me out, would ya? Let's drag this hyere little table over close to the bed for Miss Kitty t' use. We'll put her operatin' thangs on top so she's got plenty a' elbow room."

Kitty swallowed hard, glancing once more at the blood staining the white cloth on Matt's skin. Tamping down a shudder of dread, she directed, "I'll need some boiling hot water, boys, to clean with. Build a fire in the stove. We need to do this fast before Matt loses anymore blood."

"Yes ma'am," they murmured, hurrying to pour water from a pitcher into the tea kettle and open the creaking cast iron door to poke wood inside the stove.

While they worked, she used a pair of scissors to carefully cut off Matt's vest and shirt, both crusted with blood. "Now," she murmured aloud as she peeled the fabric away from his chest and shoulder. "I can see what I'm up against." Wincing as she peeked beneath the sticky makeshift bandage, she muttered softly, "Matt, I gotta be honest-I don't know if I can do this."

He surprised her by answering again in a faltering voice, "I know…you can do it…Kitty."

"Oh, Matt…" She placed a hand on his damp cheek, her thumb stroking his skin while hot tears burned her eyes.

His expression, though glazed with pain, did not waver as he comforted her. "It'll be…alright, honey…"

She opened her mouth to reply, but his eyes fluttered closed again.

"Matt?" She repeated urgently, "Matt?"

Stifling a whimper of frustration and fear, she turned her head to the others and directed, "Quint, come and hold this on Matt's shoulder while I wash up. Festus, you scrub your hands, too, real good like you've seen Doc do it. And then we'll clean up this wound with some alcohol. I'll tend to you, too, Quint, so you can help. Let's get this over with."

They all busied themselves, preparing for the tough task which lay ahead, while Kitty wondered all the while if she were up to it. She was no doctor. And her man's life lay hanging in the balance.

tbc

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	11. Last Nights, Lingering Fears: Searching

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _A million thanks, once again, to my medical technical advisor, LadyBrit. If there's a mistake, it's just because I made up some crap on purpose for dramatic effect. The joys of writing fiction…_

 _And thanks again, a bushel and a peck, to readers who've sent encouragement, which is how writers know if what they're doing is satisfying their audience. We're aware that you are reading because of the hit counters on our fics, but it helps immeasurably to hear what touches you or resonates in your heart as truth. We don't get paid in money, but in satisfaction, both yours and ours. :-) Thanks for joining me, and I hope you like this one.  
_

 **Chapter 11 "Last Nights and Lingering Fears"**

 **Part C: Searching**

by Lilyjack

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Tongue touching her lip in concentration, Kitty carefully secured the dressing she'd wrapped around Quint's head to staunch his bleeding while he, in turn, held a bandage tightly against Matt's shoulder for her. As Festus diligently organized surgical supplies atop the table in preparation for removing the bullet, he muttered darkly to himself, apparently engaged in a scathing hypothetical conversation with the inconveniently absent Doc. In addition to the steel instruments, he'd secured two of Kitty's wash basins, one holding boiling hot water to bathe them, just like Doc always did. The hillman stood back, hand stroking his stubbled chin, surveying his arrangement before thoughtfully switching items to what he imagined would be a more practical placement.

"Festus, do you have more bandages in that crate?" Kitty worriedly asked, noticing the scant stack he laid on the table. "We'll need more than that." Kitty had stood by Doc's side during more than one procedure and realized how many small, soft cloths he would use as sponges for both blood and antiseptic.

"No, ma'am, this hyere's all I could find."

"Well, use what you've got there…" She read the labels on the bottles from Doc's office until she found alcohol and handed it to him. "…and this to clean Matt's shoulder before we get started. I'll find us some more bandages real quick."

Crossing the room to the bureau, she began rummaging in drawers, pulling out soft, white, ruffled intimate apparel that turned Festus's cheeks pink, and both men quickly averted their eyes back to their work. They could hear her cutting and ripping cloth, hastily folding it until she rejoined them with a large stack of improvised bandages. "There, that oughta' do it." She bathed her hands in a pan of sweet-smelling carbolic, and Festus stepped aside to allow her to use one of the new bandages to also dab some on Matt's shoulder. She'd seen Doc use several different liquids to prepare patients for surgery on different occasions, so she was gonna use everything she had in her arsenal to keep Matt alive. Better safe than sorry, she grimly thought.

"You ready, Miss Kitty?" Festus hesitantly inquired.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess." She blew out a nervous breath and squinted. "I need some more light over here. Quint, can you fetch me that lamp and maybe light another one?"

"Sure," Quint answered, moving considerably more slowly than usual but with determination, nonetheless. He threw over his shoulder, "You know you've got on an awful fancy dress for doin' bloody work. It might end up the worse for wear."

"I don't care," she flatly stated, unfastening a silk-covered button on each sleeve and rolling them up. She lifted the carbolic-soaked cloth she'd left atop the wound and grasped a pair of clamps with a fresh, dry cloth to dab the bleeding again. She squinted hard at the bullet hole, suddenly inquiring, "Festus, did you find Doc's spare-?"

"Got Doc's specs right hyere, just like ya told me," he proclaimed in satisfaction, reaching inside his shirt pocket. He handed them to her and she fitted them around her ears, adjusting the lenses atop her nose. She peered at Matt's shoulder again, through Doc's spectacles, and remarked, "A little bit clearer. Not perfect, but better than nothin'."

She exhaled another big sigh and tensely announced, "You ready? Remember what I told you both. I'm relying on you to help. I sure can't do this by myself."

"We'll do whatever you need, Kitty. You just say the word," Quint assured her.

"I guess I'll have to start with this…" she said hesitantly as she picked up the bullet probe from Doc's enamel basin. "You two stay real close, okay?" They nodded and shifted on their feet in readiness as she bit her lip in trepidation, using the slim instrument to probe the wound. She felt sick to her stomach and fairly light-headed, but she steeled her nerves to her task. She had to do this for Matt.

Her hand shook as she worked, and she began to feel overwhelmed when blood welled up in the wound again. "Festus?" she prompted, and he hurried to use the clamps holding a pad of folded white petticoat to soak up the crimson puddle. "Thanks, Festus," she murmured, her eyes never leaving her work.

"Kin ya find it, Miss Kitty?"

"Not yet," she responded anxiously. She swiped at her damp face with a sleeve. "I don't guess I've gone deep enough." She held her breath and readied her resolve. "Get ready, boys, just in case." They tersely nodded, and she dug more deeply, attempting to follow the bullet's direct path through Matt's flesh so as not to cause further damage. "Clean it again, Festus," she directed. "I can't see what I'm doing."

Then Matt began to stir.

"Hold him, Quint," she warned anxiously.

"Got it," he answered, resting on the opposite side of the bed and leaning over to grasp Matt's arms, to pin them down.

Matt groaned and jerked, and Kitty quickly withdrew the probe.

"Festus, remember what to do?"

"Yes'm," he replied, retrieving a glass bottle with a small spout on top.

"Just place it on that wire mask over his mouth and nose." She helped him steady it. "Only a few drops now."

"I'm bein' keerful."

"I know you are, Festus." She glanced at him gratefully. "See? He's already relaxing. I'd hoped we wouldn't have to use ether, but I…" Her expression turned apprehensive, unsure. "I'm just having to go too deep." She regretfully muttered, "I'm hurting him."

"You cain't help it, Miss Kitty. It's just whut you got t' do to git that bullet out."

"I know," she answered with resignation. "Now let's get started again. I'm afraid I've never tied up a blood vessel either. My work experience is somewhat lacking in skills of this nature, sorry to say." A nervous, humorless laugh escaped her lips, and she quietly lamented, "I sure wish Doc was here."

"Yer doin' fine, Miss Kitty. Don't give up. Stay in the buggy."

"I'm tryin', Festus." She frowned as the wound filled with blood again. "Doc always closes the vessels that are bleeding as he goes. Hand me one of those threads from the jar, will ya…? No, the other jar. I've found the bleeder. Help me, Festus. Clamp it tight while I tie the thread around it."

She gritted her teeth as she struggled to tie a thread around the small vessel while Festus clamped it steady. "Doc, where are you right now?" she wondered under her breath. She comforted herself with the sight of Matt's chest rising and falling, his skin warm beneath her hands, all sure signs that he was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

The blood cleared from the wound when she finally got the vein tied off. "Hand me that probe again," she quickly requested. Gently, gently she went deeper and deeper into the wound till she felt as if she must be about to pass all the way through the back of Matt's poor shoulder. Then suddenly, her heart leapt as she felt the probe make contact with the bullet she was searching for. "I think I've found it!"

Now all she had to do was reach the forceps carefully along that line and remove it. It wasn't easy. The forceps were bigger than the probe and it required more pressure.

Her heart sank when Matt began to stir again. She didn't dare have Festus give him anymore ether. Doc said ether was a dangerous and risky drug. So much could go wrong when administering it. She took a deep breath. "Hold him still now, Quint."

She pushed the forceps further in until she could grasp the offending piece of metal and then locked the instrument, just like she'd seen Doc do so many times before. This was it! All she had to do was pull out the forceps, bullet and all. One quick movement elicited a deep groan from Matt, but the forceps emerged at last holding the bullet. She dropped it into the bowl where it landed with a satisfying clatter. She'd done it. She exchanged a triumphant look with her companions before remembering she wasn't done yet.

Now she had to close the wound. That should be easier, shouldn't it? After all, she'd sewn dresses before. But this was human flesh. More than human…it was Matt Dillon.

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"Hand me another one of those threads," Kitty instructed Festus.

"Quint, can you cut this one for me?" Her voice wavered, and she pressed her lips together to help steady herself.

Quint, more accustomed to using big, heavy iron implements in his daily work, wielded the small surgical scissors with surprising agility, trimming the stitch she'd made to close Matt's bullet wound. He murmured reassuringly, "You're doin' a fine job, Kitty. Almost done now."

"Almost done," she repeated in earnest. She glanced appreciatively at Quint for just a second before she lowered her head, squinting through Doc's spare spectacles to sew Matt's wound closed. Skin was infinitely more difficult than dress-goods to sew, she thought grimly. So unexpectedly tough to get a needle through. She shuddered every time she had to force it and was thankful Matt was still sleeping relatively peacefully due to the ether. She could not bear to even glance at his face while she sewed his skin—she had to keep her mind strictly on her business to keep from losing her courage.

This was probably the hardest thing she'd ever had to do in her life, and she couldn't wait for it to be over. All she wanted was for Matt to wake up and tell her he was okay. Oh, how she prayed with all her heart he was going to be okay. She couldn't imagine losing him under her care – she would forever blame herself. How did Doc do this day after day—take the fragile lives of human beings as his responsibility? What a weight he must carry on his shoulders always, especially after the loss of a patient. She held a new appreciation for Doc now, not only for his doctoring skills but for the emotional toll his life's work carried as well.

"Do you think that's good enough?" She looked anxiously to her companions for their opinions. "Will it hold?"

"Miss Kitty, I don't reckon ol' Doc coulda' done any better hisself."

Kitty made a sound of disparagement. "Don't try to fool me, Festus Haggen. Only time will tell if…" Her valiant attempt at levity failed her just then as all the starch chose that moment to desert her body. "Oh, Festus," she solemnly intoned. "I hope he's gonna be okay."

Quint touched her sagging shoulder. "It won't be for lack of tryin', Kitty. You did your best. That's all a person _can_ do."

"Thank you…both." She gazed at the two men tiredly, then added, "We'll paint some iodine on these stitches and clean up here." She took a deep breath as she stared at the big man lying on her bed, reaching to place a bloody hand on his broad chest. "And wait…"

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	12. Last Nights, Lingering Fears: Mending

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _I thank, once again, the brilliant LadyBrit who beta-read this story for me, locating those troublesome, awkward or uncharacteristic lines that required wordsmithing, plus giving her Doc-torly advice as usual, both as a professional and regarding a beloved crotchety character. You will always be my Doc,  
_ _LadyBrit._

 _I truly appreciate the kind notes – coming home at the end of a long work day to read that you are enjoying this little uber-drama makes me very happy. Only one more chapter after this one. Thanks for reading. ~lj_

 **Chapter 12 "Last Nights and Lingering Fears"**

 **Part D: Mending**

by Lilyjack

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Jolting awake, Kitty peered around her dimly lit surroundings in confusion and fear, attempting to recall where she was and what was going on. She lay curled in a ball on her bed next to a giant of a man, her hand resting atop his bare chest. Everything came back to her in a rush as she spied the bandage wound round his shoulder, even though the idea of she herself performing surgery on Matt Dillon seemed more of a nightmare than reality. The beating heart and steady rise and fall of the chest beneath her palm allayed the panicked worry that had prickled her skin at her initial recollection of the evening's events.

She had no idea how long she'd slept, but it was probably near dawn now as gray light seemed to be seeping around the borders of her window shades. Pushing straggling hair out of her face, she began to look around for Festus until she remembered that after Matt's condition had seemed to stabilize in the middle of the night, the hillman had left to do rounds and keep an eye on the marshal's office.

Amongst the familiar shadows in the dim room, she could just make out the sleeping form of Quint stretched out on the floor, his jacket bunched up for a pillow beneath his bandaged head. She then recalled with a flush of heat on her face that it was he who had fairly lifted her onto this side of the bed after discovering Kitty slumped forward in her chair, her head cradled on Matt's chest. She'd been sleeping so soundly, her strength utterly drained, she hadn't possessed the energy or wherewithal to protest. Immediately she'd fallen into oblivion once again, curled up tightly, as soon as she'd placed her hand where she could feel her man's thumping heart.

After getting her bearings, Kitty hastily sat up and laid a palm on Matt's forehead, sliding it down to his cheek, feeling weak with relief that his skin was cool - not fevered. He failed to even stir at her touch, but she reassured herself with the knowledge that he might remain unconscious for a long period of time, sleep being that greatest of healers of the body - sometimes the soul as well.

Matt Dillon was the strongest man Kitty had ever known – yes, strong in body, but steadfast in his convictions to boot. It pained her and it frightened her to see him hurt and helpless like this. He _was_ strong, and he was honest and good, which sometimes created an internal battle—both in his duties as United States Marshal and within his own heart. Because sometimes he felt bound by obligation to perform acts that didn't align with his own honor code, with what he felt deep down in his gut was right. Therefore, he was forced into conflict with friends both old and new, occasionally deadly conflict, and it caused this man she loved a world of hurt, both physical and emotional, which ultimately hurt her, too.

Realizing that Quint was still sleeping soundly and not wishing to disturb his well-deserved rest, she lowered her head back onto the quilted coverlet, lightly placing her hand on Matt's arm which lay motionless and heavy beside her. She soothed herself with the sound of his quiet, even breathing while silently contemplating the profile of the sleeping man with whom she'd weathered so many storms.

Matt was a man of relatively few words, but she was thankful that he felt he could talk to her, could come to her for advice or comfort. As an officer of the law, he sometimes found himself placed in impossible positions where he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't, and the way out was never clear or simple. The fact that he valued her opinion and often sought it, even on matters pertaining to his job, pleased her and gave her great satisfaction. But that responsibility also brought with it, at times, great sadness.

She recalled with a pang of regret the time Matt had been forced into a shootout with his old friend Esteban Garcia. Matt's aim was deadly, and unfortunately, his old compadre had died nearly instantly. Garcia was a good-looking man, she'd told Chester, but oh, he was a stubborn one, a man who'd been bound and determined to carry out a revenge killing against an outlaw who'd trifled with his woman back home in Mexico. Yes, so stubborn that Esteban had been willing to face down his old friend Matt Dillon in a battle for the outlaw's life. He'd faced down Matt and died for his stubbornness.

Chester, who'd been on the trail with his boss when it had happened, returned directly to Dodge afterward, but Matt had not. Matt had finally shown up three days later—hot, tired and dirty. It'd been very late - all her customers but one had ridden back to their camps or staggered home by then, and only she and Clem were left working. Matt walked slowly through the batwing doors without a word and sat down heavily at a table, pushing his hat back on his perspiring forehead.

Kitty automatically went to draw him a cold beer from the tap. "Clem, you head on home for the night. I can close up here."

Clem had glanced at the marshal, then back at Kitty and smiled agreeably. "Yes, ma'am." He'd removed his apron and folded it to place beneath the bar. "Good night."

"Night, Clem," she nodded. "See you tomorrow."

"Night, Marshal." Without waiting for a reply, Clem had closed the double doors, locking them behind himself.

Kitty walked deliberately over to sit next to Dillon, sliding the beer in front of him, adjusting her full skirts. "Thirsty?"

Wordlessly, he picked it up and drained the glass quickly, droplets of sweat trailing down his throat as his prominent Adam's apple bobbed. He placed the glass firmly on the table before him.

"I take that as a yes." She smiled softly at him although he wouldn't look her in the eye. "I've been worried about you, Cowboy. Chester told me what happened." Her tone lowered. "Wanna talk about it?"

He'd just grunted in reply as he removed his hat, raking his fingers through his damp hair.

She'd risen then, retreated to the bar and reached beneath, bringing out a bottle of bourbon and two clean glasses. Her purple-black dress reflected a soft sheen beneath the lamplight, and it swished quietly when she walked back to stand next to him. She'd murmured, "It might interest you that I had Clem carry me plenty a' hot water upstairs a little while ago so I could take a nice, long bath tonight."

That had earned her his first real reaction of the evening. Not a lot of people would have noticed, but she spied a faint movement of his brow and a glint of interest in his eye.

She'd casually continued, "But now I see that you need it worse." She said it with her best poker face in place, not a hint of irony in her voice.

Wordlessly, he had stood, all six feet, seven inches of him, and taken the bottle and glasses from her hands, heading toward the stairway up to her private living quarters. Her heart aching for him, she'd gathered her skirts and followed him up the steps.

He'd poured them each a stiff drink once inside the bedroom, and she'd looked into his pained gaze as they drank deeply, the potent liquid burning their throats and stinging their eyes. Kitty placed a hand on his chest. "Pour us another one, Matt. I'll go see that the bath is ready for you."

His voice sounded strained when at last he had spoken. "Thanks, Kitty." He'd watched her disappear through the doorway to the small water closet and tossed back another fiery glassful, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while he listened to the sound of water splashing in the tin tub.

She'd returned by the time he'd finished his third glass of bourbon. Without hesitation, she reached down with a practiced hand to unbuckle his gun belt, passing it to Matt to hang along with his sweat-stained hat on the hook where he customarily placed them. Then she took his hand and led him to the bath.

Circling behind him, she had slowly drawn his dusty vest off his slumping shoulders and down his long arms, placing it on a wooden chest which lay against the wall. Then she'd gone to work on his shirt buttons. They were difficult to unfasten since the cloth was damp with perspiration, and he'd reached to help her. She'd stayed his hand and earnestly looked up at him. "Let me do it for you."

So then he'd willingly surrendered and let her undress him, to take care of him as he seldom allowed her to do. She'd slipped his shirt slowly off his broad shoulders and down his arms. Spotting a small tear on the cuff, she made a mental note to repair it when it came back from being laundered. Then sliding his worn leather belt through the loops, she'd noticed that it was not notched in its usual hole – her man had lost weight – and her heart squeezed in her chest thinking of what he'd been going through. She'd unbuttoned his pants, tugging them down his long legs and helping him kick off his dirty boots, laying them all aside. Finally, she'd stripped off his grimy union suit, sliding her gentle hands over his naked skin, always anxious lest she find new injuries or scars on his beautiful body. She'd pitched every stitch of dirty clothing into the corner, distractedly hoping that he had a change of clean duds remaining in her wardrobe or else he'd be forced to walk buck naked back to the jailhouse later. Remarking as much to him, it had provoked the first hint of a smile to the corners of his mouth. Then she'd smiled softly back at him, tiptoeing and stretching her arms around his neck to touch her lips tenderly to his.

"You're gonna ruin that pretty dress, honey. I'm filthy."

"I know you are. And I don't give a damn." She'd placed her hands on his cheeks and gave him another gentle kiss, wondering exactly how many times he'd said that to her before. "I'm just glad you're home, Matt."

She'd turned her back to him and invited, "Unbutton me real quick, Cowboy. Then climb in that bathtub and get clean. I'm tired and I know for a fact that you are, too."

"You aren't gettin' in with me?"

She had eyed him as she'd slipped the dress from her shoulders and down her arms, the whole while gliding back to the bedroom. Her heavy skirts had puddled in a voluminous heap on the floor at her feet as she drily called out, "I want you to think about gettin' clean and nothin' else."

She had heard him groan aloud as he slid into the hot water and she imagined him sinking lower and lower until he could dunk his head beneath the surface. Quickly unlacing and abandoning her corset, she'd removed every stitch of her underthings save her long, flowing chemise. It had felt heavenly to have air circulating over her skin beneath the gossamer soft cotton garment. Contentedly listening to Matt's splashings, she'd hastily unpinned and then brushed and loosely plaited her hair in a single, thick braid over one shoulder. Finally, she'd scooted back to the water closet to scrub every bit of paint off her face at the basin, feeling Matt's eyes upon her as she toweled her flushed skin dry. She turned to look at him. "You clean up real good," she'd cooed in satisfaction.

"So do you."

"Matt Dillon, I just don't know what to make of that remark." She'd frowned playfully at him, placing her hands on her hips.

Rubbing a palm over his wet face, closely contemplating her, he'd taken a thoughtful breath and then replied with conviction, "Honey, I honestly don't know whether I like you better dressed like a queen and painted up purty as a picture…or nearly nekkid and clean and fresh as a daisy."

A pleased grin had stolen over her features. She'd wryly accused, "Flatterer." But she flushed pink in response to his heartfelt words, and she could see he hadn't missed it.

"Wash my back?" His blue eyes were crinkled at the corners, his face drawn. She'd realized instinctively that his invitation was two-fold – that he might be ready to unburden himself, to let loose of the troubles that were eating his insides.

"You know I will, Matt," she'd soothed, padding across the floor to close the space between them. She'd pulled up a low chair next to the tub and soaped the sponge as Matt leaned forward. He'd hummed contentedly as she raked it over his broad back, leaving fresh-scented bubbles in its wake. She hadn't stopped at his back – she'd continued, softly scrubbing his wide shoulders and chest, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles beneath water-slick skin. She'd rinsed him with her bare hands sliding cleanly over his naked body, making him shiver in spite of the warmth of the water.

"Cold?" she asked.

"No, just…" He searched for an explanation. "…just you, honey."

Pulling him back flush against her, unruly wet curls resting against her chest, she'd wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, heedless of the wetting she was getting. They both sighed as they settled into one another. She'd spoken at last, "I'm so sorry, Matt."

"I know, honey." He'd grasped the lithe arms entwining him in each of his big hands.

"Chester is worried, you know."

"I know that, too. I'm sorry I deserted him, but I just couldn't face coming back to town so soon after…" He breathed deeply before amending, "…so soon. It just didn't feel right, goin' back to work like nothin' ever happened. I needed a little peace and quiet. I just…I just wandered around on the prairie for a few days, thinkin'."

"Chester's a good man, Matt. He'll understand."

"I'll go see him tomorrow mornin'."

"So you're stayin' here with me tonight?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

"What about a drunken brawl? On Front Street?"

"I'd just let the bastards beat the hell outta each other. I'm not movin'."

"Good." She'd closed her eyes to inhale his scent, tenderly nuzzling his ear." She'd taken a deep breath and revealed, "Chester was upset because you wouldn't let him help with the burying.

She'd watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard before replying, "I killed him, Kitty. He was my friend. I felt like it was my responsibility."

"He made you do it, Matt. Esteban Garcia drew on you first, Chester said. He didn't give you a choice."

She'd felt his hands tighten on her arms, watched his eyes drift shut.

She'd softly but vehemently continued, "His honor, his pride, was the most important thing to him. You had to defend yourself, Matt. There was no other way."

They had sat quietly for several minutes, each letting the words of the other sink in, settle into their consciousness.

Finally, Matt broke the silence. "Why…?" One whispered word escaped from his lips, and she realized it was a rhetorical question. A question without a rational answer.

She'd kissed his wet hair and held him tightly, avowing, "I'm so thankful that you're the one who walked away from this fight alive and breathing, Matt. That's what I've got to hold on to. That's what you've got to keep reminding yourself." Pressing her lips against his wet cheek, she'd breathlessly finished, "Cause I don't know what I'd do without you."

Water had splashed onto the floor as he rose from the tub and pulled her against his streaming body. "Kitty," was the single word that strangled from his lips this time before he captured her mouth in an urgent kiss. She'd closed her eyes and reveled in their closeness, praying that they would always have each other to care and to comfort and to love.

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	13. Last Nights, Lingering Fears: Reuniting

_**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**_

 _I thank, once again, the brilliant LadyBrit who beta-read this story for me, locating those troublesome, awkward and/or uncharacteristic lines that required wordsmithing, plus giving her Doc-torly advice as usual, both as a professional and with regard to a beloved crotchety character. You will always be my Doc, LadyB._

 _And I heartily appreciate RBHDPSMMK4EVER giving my biscuit a taste test plus the Betty Crocker seal of approval right when I needed it most. You are first rate.  
_

 **Chapter 13 "Last Nights and Lingering Fears"**

 **Part E: Reuniting**

by Lilyjack

She swam to hazy consciousness feeling as if a leaden weight lay upon her eyelids. How much longer had she managed to sleep? An hour maybe? Eyes still shut, she blindly located Matt's arm, placing her fingers lightly on his wrist to check his pulse the way Doc had taught her. She hoped it wasn't wishful thinking on her part, but it certainly felt stronger this time, and his stubbly cheek felt cool as well. She lay still for a moment longer, enjoying the sound of his soft snoring and allowing herself the luxury of feeling hope bubble up in her chest. Yawning, she stretched her limbs, cramped from trying to lie motionless in one position alongside her sleeping patient. Finally cracking her heavy eyelids, she noticed a figure seated against the wall, quietly regarding her. Gasping, she sat bolt upright, ready to let out a blood-curdling scream, until she realized it was only Quint.

"Sorry, Kitty - didn't mean to startle ya' like that!" he whispered from across the room.

She placed one hand weakly on her chest, the other raked disheveled hair from her face. "Quint!" she breathed. "You scared the life outta me."

"You were just sleeping so peaceful, and I didn't wanna leave until I found out what you might need. Some food? Coffee? Anything else from Doc's office? What can I get for you?" He seemed genuinely anxious to help and more than a little apologetic.

She stiffly rose from the bed and limped over to where her friend the town blacksmith sat. Sliding down the wall, she sat next to him, her wrinkled lavender gray dress billowing around her. Blowing a wayward curl out of her eyes, she observed, "Now that I think about it, I am mighty hungry."

He turned his head toward her, his expression a bit surprised. "You are, huh?"

"But I don't reckon it's too ladylike to admit to such a thing as havin' a big appetite."

Quint's eyes twinkled. "Ladies aren't supposed to get hungry?"

"No." Glancing down, she happened to notice she'd best adjust her sleep-rumpled bodice so as not to give away too many of her womanly secrets. Pressing her lips together, she looked back at Quint with chagrin while he simply smiled at her charmingly. She closed her eyes, a little mortified at the thought of Quint putting her into Matt's bed as well. But she simply replied, "Ladies are definitely not supposed to refer to such base human frailties as ravenous hunger."

He shook his head dubiously. "That doesn't make a lick a' sense to me."

"Me neither," she frowned.

"Bacon and eggs? Or ham?"

"Both. And don't forget the biscuits and gravy."

"You've got it, Kitty."

"And bring some strong broth for Matt. I've gotta get something in his stomach when he finally wakes up." _Yes,_ _ **when**_ _he wakes up_ , she thought, allowing herself a little more of that fragile hope to flutter up in her chest.

Quint stood and offered a hand to help her rise to her feet. "And I'll run by and tell Festus that Matt is doin' fine this mornin'."

"Thanks, Quint."

"And, Kitty…?"

"Yes, Quint?"

"You're the finest lady I know, regardless of your appetite."

"Thank you, Quint."

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Quint and Festus sat a bit slack-jawed across from Kitty, observing while she polished off three scrambled eggs, five strips of bacon and a slice of ham, plus a couple of biscuits with sausage gravy. Washing down her last bite of ham with some strong black coffee, she reached across the tray Quint had brought her from Delmonico's to grab another biscuit. She noticed her companions staring at her. "What?" she asked defensively.

Festus cleared his throat and spoke quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping patient on the bed nearby. "Nuthin'. Nuthin' a'tall, Miss Kitty. Only that I b'lieve you must have a holler leg t' hold all them vittles. But I reckon yer makin' up fer lost time, not eatin' on account a' Matthew bein' gone s' long, don't ya' see."

Kitty simply raised an eyebrow at him and continued to take a bite of her biscuit.

Quint remarked, "I like a girl with a good appetite."

"Thank you, Quint," she replied, mouth full, reaching for her coffee again. "You two act like you've never seen—"

Suddenly a hoarse voice croaked from the bed. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Matt!" Kitty cried, unceremoniously dropping her half-eaten biscuit onto her plate.

All three rushed to Matt's bedside. Kitty immediately placed a hand on his forehead to check his temperature for what seemed like the hundredth time. She beamed at her companions. "He's cool. Still no sign of fever." She touched her fingers to his wrist again to check his pulse, which felt regular and strong, not bothering to let go of his arm afterward. To hear his voice, to touch his warm skin in the palm of her hand was blessed reassurance that she could feel all the way to the tip of her toes.

Festus crowed, "Yer awake, Matthew!"

Their drowsy patient frowned and managed to quip in a low voice, "I sure's hell hope so…or else I'm talkin' in my sleep, Festus."

Quint observed with a happy grin, "He's got a point there, partner."

Festus was too overjoyed to pay the teasing any mind. "Well, Matthew, I shore am glad to see you waked up and jawin' – maybe not so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed yet but you jes' give it a little time. Cause when I found you after you was shot by them Monger polecats, why I didn't know if…"

Quint cut in, "Uh, Festus, whatta you say me and you go downstairs and get Miss Kitty a fresh pot a' coffee?"

"Well, Golly Bill, how come? Matthew jus'…"

Quint quickly replied, "I think Matt needs his rest. Not too much talkin' just yet. Right, Doc?" Quint winked at Kitty.

Festus burst out, "Oh yeah! Hey, Matthew, you wouldn't a' believed how good Miss Kitty dug that there bullet outta yer shoulder and sewed you up good as new. Why, I tol' her ol' Doc hisself couldn't a' done any better!"

Matt's face lit up. He whispered, "That so?"

Festus continued enthusiastically, "Why, you better b'lieve it! You'd a' thought that…"

Quint interrupted again, "Festus…coffee? And I bet Sam would appreciate gettin' good news on the marshal, too."

"Okay, okay, keep yer shirt on, Comanche… Matthew, Miss Kitty'll take good care a' you. She's got some strong broth for ya' over yonder and…"

"Come on, Festus," Quint cajoled good-naturedly. "Kitty can take it from here."

Kitty's eyes sparkled with unshed tears of utter relief. She let go of Matt's arm long enough to say, "Thank you, Quint, and thank you, Festus, for everything you did last night. I couldn't've done it without you." She then kissed each of them gently on the cheek, leaving Festus speechless at last.

She watched Quint lead the astounded hillman out the door, closing it carefully behind them. Sighing, she looked down at the wan complexion of her patient, her fingers softly threading through his wavy hair. Their eyes met. "Oh, Matt…" she murmured as she leaned down, at last, to carefully kiss him on the cheek. "I was so scared."

Matt quietly declared, "I'm real proud a' you, Kitty."

She gave a nervous laugh, wiped an errant tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "I hafta admit, I can't quite believe the turn of events myself."

"I knew you could do it."

"Well, I'm glad you knew it, cause I sure didn't."

"Kitty Russell, I think you could do anything you took a mind to do." A cough rattled up from his chest just then, and Kitty quickly poured him a glass of water from a porcelain pitcher on the nightstand.

Brow knitting in concern, she soothed, "Shhh, you don't hafta talk right now, Cowboy." She swiped at another tear with her sleeve when she turned to place the empty glass on the table. "I'm just so glad you're home. Home safe and sound." Her heart was full. She had her man back, one more time.

"I told ya'…" He took a pained breath, then looked into her eyes pointedly. "I told ya' I'd be home in time to take you to the barn dance."

"Oh, Matt…"

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Kitty marched out onto the balcony and stood surveying the ruckus taking place in her saloon. Sam, who'd hastily fetched her after Myrl and Tuck Morris demanded to see Miss Kitty or else they'd tear the place apart, stood calmly by her side. "I thought I'd better come and get you, Miss Kitty, to avoid the damage those two big boys could cause. I reckon you could talk 'em down purty quick, and then it'll be all over."

Kitty just sighed and shook her head. Nothing could put her in a bad mood right now – Matt had inhaled more than one bowl of beef broth and was complaining that he was still hungry. That man had the appetite of a horse, even after taking a bullet in the shoulder. But she was mighty relieved that he was feeling well enough to think about food. "I'll take care of it, Sam. Could you go over to Delmonico's and get the marshal somethin' to eat? No steak, mind you. But maybe some eggs and toast." She thought for a moment, then amended, "A lotta eggs."

"Yes, ma'am. But I'd like to wait until those boys settle down before I leave you here."

"Alright, Sam. Let's go see what they want."

He escorted her downstairs to speak to the Morris brothers who greeted her with unwavering drunken enthusiasm. She bought them each a beer and listened at some length to their blustering and patted them on the shoulder and the arm. Then she signaled silently for pretty Jilly Bean from Topeka to casually sidle up between the boys while Kitty slipped quietly away.

She took a deep breath and finally nodded wordlessly to Sam over by the bar that he was free to head to Delmonico's for Matt's dinner. That was when she noticed a figure watching her quietly from a table across the room. It was Finn Hatcher, drinking alone. He smiled at her and tilted his head in invitation towards the chair beside him. She smiled tiredly back at him, and unable to refuse, walked over to sit down.

"Evenin', Finn."

"Good evenin', Miss Russell. You are lookin' lovely as always."

That's when she noticed her clothing. She was still wearing the exact same dress as the previous night when she had parted from Finn's company, albeit wrinkled from sleep and flecked with specks and smears of Matt's dried blood!

"Oh, Finn! What you must think of me. I just realized I must look a sight!"

"Now, Miss Russell, whatta you mean? I told you that you always look a perfect vision to me."

She laughed, touching a hand self-consciously to her forehead. "You are teasin' me, Finn. I haven't looked in a mirror in a long time, but I can imagine exactly what this vision looks like."

Finn's sharp eyes took in the small blood smears and her exhausted, drawn face. He gazed at her soberly. "I assure you, Miss Russell, I don't tease ladies, especially a lady such as you." He coughed nervously, then asked, "I suppose your marshal has made it back to Dodge?"

"Yes…" Kitty hesitated, smoothing her skirt and tucking a wayward curl behind her ear before answering, "Yes, Finn, Marshal Dillon made it back."

"Forgive my manners – would you care for a drink?"

"No…" She shook her head. "Thank you, Finn, but I don't think so."

"He is doin' fine, I hope? The marshal?"

Kitty cleared her throat. "Yes, he's doin' fine now."

"That's good t' hear."

"Thank you, Finn. Thank you for askin'."

"Miss Russell, I…"

Just then a familiar old face showed up, shuffling across the saloon directly toward their table.

"Doc!" She beamed up at her elderly friend and addressed Hatcher, "Finn, you know Doc Adams, right?"

"Yes, I've had the distinct pleasure of meetin' this gentleman once before. How are ya', Doc?"

"Oh, fine, fine! Just got back from a trip out to the country. Had a very sick family to tend to, very sick."

Finn inquired, "I hope they're all okay, Doc."

"Yes, recovering nicely. A neighbor lady is helpin' out, tending them now." Then Doc caught Kitty's eye and held it. "I hear things were purty eventful here in Dodge, too. I just saw Festus a few minutes ago as I passed by the marshal's office, and he sent me straight over."

Kitty glanced warily at Finn, then looked back to Doc. "Oh, he did, did he?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. Doc's mischievous eyes sparkled. "And I hear you've been usin' up all my supplies, young lady!"

Kitty definitely didn't need her Long Branch customers finding out she had their venerable marshal upstairs in her bed. She quickly urged, "Doc, I've got somethin' in my room to show you."

He continued to needle her good-naturedly. "Course, you do know that practicing medicine without a license…"

Kitty bit her lip, raised her brows in silent signal to Doc.

Doc's face softened as his eyes were drawn to the telltale dark bloodstains on Kitty's dress and her hands, grasped tightly before her. Noticing her strained expression and exhausted features, he tugged at his ear and gently teased, "Well, just maybe we can overlook it this time… Festus tells me you've been doing some pretty fine needlework. Let's go on up and see what you've been doing." Doc turned and stiffly began to climb the stairs, calling back, "Good to see you again, Hatcher."

Kitty hastily apologized, "Finn, I'm so sorry. Will you excuse us?"

Finn stood as Kitty rose to join Doc. He gazed at her evenly. "Of course, Miss Russell, but…"

Doc turned, scrubbing his hand over a jaw that was shadowed with several days' beard growth. "Kitty, you comin'?"

"Doc, you go on up and I'll be right behind you, okay?"

Impatiently, Doc cast a curious eye on the two of them. "Don't be too long!" he called to Kitty over his shoulder. "I don't have all day, y' know."

"I won't." She turned to Finn who took her hand, cuticles still stained with Matt's blood. That sobering fact was not lost on him.

"I, uh, I'm real glad your marshal made it back. And that he's doin' so good now."

She nodded wordlessly.

"And I just wanted t' say to you, that if…" He cast his eyes to the ceiling, searching for the perfect words. "…if you should ever need anything... I'm not talkin' whiskey, mind you. If y' need anything at all… Or if things should suddenly happen to change… I… I'm only a telegram away."

Kitty's eyes widened. She squeezed Finn's hand. "I thank you, Finn. You don't know how much that means to me."

"I mean it, Miss Russell. You're a fine woman."

"And you're a good man, Mr. Hatcher – a good friend.." She released his hand. "I think I may be needed upstairs now."

"I don't wanna keep you waiting. You truly are mighty busy, after all."

"Good night, Finn."

"Good night, Miss Russell. Take care of yourself. And…and maybe you can tell that big marshal I said he is an awful lucky man."

"Thank you, Finn. I just hope he knows he is an awful lucky man, in more ways than one."

end

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	14. Naked Longing

**A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years**

Chapter 14

"Naked Longing"

by Lilyjack

 _Feeling emotional, so I thought maybe dashing out an angsty vignette would help me work through it. And I reckoned the smut biscuit enthusiasts out there would get a kick outta the title. How's that for titillating? This little piece is set quite early in the M/K relationship. They are "just close friends" at the moment. Hope you enjoy, hopelessly romantic Matt & Kitty fans. ~lj_

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"Wash my back, Matt?" Kitty Russell attempted to keep her tone light, but the slight tremor in her voice belied her casual manner. It was impossible to appear cavalier when she stood bare-naked before the closest friend and confidant of her lifetime, and he happened to be a six foot seven giant of a lawman with piercing blue eyes. Her tentative request was met with an equally uncertain silence, albeit accompanied by a longing gaze from the virile male invading her bedroom. He stood stock still and seemed to be almost breathless.

Moments earlier, the young marshal had uncharacteristically burst into her room with only a cursory knock, and the wooden door to the connecting water closet lay wide open. Matt had hurriedly begun to announce, "Kitty, I heard you needed to..." His voice had trailed off as his oversized, booted feet rooted to the floor. He audibly swallowed. Kitty Russell stood wet and naked in full view of his startled eyes.

Rose-gold light from the warm, early summer sunset spilled through the lace curtains, burnishing her haphazardly pinned-up hair, small damp curls plastered to her neck. Dust motes lazily floated in the slanting rays, illuminating and shadowing Kitty's curves and valleys, reflecting off the tiny bubbles that slid down her dripping skin and onto the towel spread on the plank floor beneath her feet.

At the untimely interruption of her sponge bath, Kitty's hands hastily flew to cover herself. "Matt!" she breathed in astonishment.

Good manners dictated he should turn away but his suddenly heavy and awkward feet refused to cooperate. Common sense told him he should avert his eyes, but they were inexorably drawn to the girl…the **woman** , standing at the washbasin before him. His lips tried to form words, syllables, sounds, but exactly what he should say he could not, at the moment, fathom. His head and his heart had been forcibly arrested…captivated by the unclothed vision before him. At last, he managed to utter a faint, "I… I'm sorry, Kitty."

She noticed he wasn't sorry enough to turn around and march out of her room. She quickly gauged his reaction and decided to take a chance. Decided to finally discover what feelings this handsome, affable, steadfast and gentle man held for her. Slowly she lowered her shielding arms and hands, allowing him to see her fully. She watched from beneath her lashes as his Adam's apple bobbed again, once, twice, and his mouth dropped open. Impulsively, instinctively, she offered a quiet invitation. "Wash my back, Matt?"

She tried to hide her hesitancy, her fear and sudden shyness. But her tremulous voice betrayed her when she broke the precarious stillness that lay between them. Yes, she loved this man who stood looking at her, but up until now, they'd been nothing beyond close friends. And, yes, she'd felt the undeniable pull between them, and, at times, the heat, but Matt had never once attempted to lay more than a polite hand on her waist. Matt Dillon was nothing if not a gentleman. _Was she wrong trying to shake up the status quo?_ _Had she simply been imagining the attraction between them?_ _Were her feelings not reciprocated?_ Gingerly, she held out the soft washcloth, threadbare with use and dripping wet, to the big man across the room who stood staring. She shivered at his intense regard, anxious to see what he would do, if he would accept her offer.

Alarm bells were ringing insistently in Matt Dillon's head, but he found himself pulled toward her, his leaden feet taking slow steps as he haltingly closed the space between him and Kitty Russell. His pale blue eyes burned with a strange light as he took the washcloth from her hand. She stood wordlessly facing him, waiting. He tore his eyes away, looking to the ceiling to help compose himself, and gruffly murmured, "Turn around so I can reach it."

She obliged him slowly while he watched. Big hands that had remained rock steady during gunfights now shook as he smoothed the thin cloth over her creamy-skinned shoulders and back, leaving a trail of small bubbles in its wake. The heady scent of soap with rose oil and wet female skin was a powerful combination that fairly made his head reel. From his vantage point, he could see Kitty's full breasts with tight rose-colored peaks jutting forward. His fingers flexed and fisted as he squeezed out the cloth, and a familiar ache, one he hadn't felt in a long while, began to take hold of him. It hotly filled his loins and his chest until he imagined he couldn't breathe.

"Kitty…" he strangled out, and she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. Her brilliant blue eyes cast against the whiteness of her soft, naked skin was his undoing. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat as she turned to face him. Then, hurriedly, he reached to grab the towel beside the washbasin. He was trembling and she could see it. She herself was weak with desire and anticipation and even fear. _What the hell were they doing, complicating a perfectly good friendship?_

She watched him release a shuddering sigh, his face torn with emotion, and finally he wrapped the towel around her shoulders, gripping it closed in front with his big fist. He breathed, "We can't do this."

Taken aback, she whispered, "What do you mean?

"I mean, we shouldn't be doing this. It won't work."

Hesitancy gone, she met his gaze squarely. "Kiss me, Matt. Just once. Let's see how we really feel about it."

"Kitty, honey, don'tcha see I can't kiss you just once? If I kiss you I won't be able to stop."

"Would that be a bad thing?" Her gaze shifted to the death grip he held on the towel covering her body. She placed her damp hand gently over his. "Matt, how can we continue to live like this—pretending that we're only friends? Acting as though we aren't drawn to one another?"

His tone became urgent. "With the way I live, day to day… The uncertainty of my job… I just can't put you through that. Hell, Kitty, death looms around every corner in a wild city like Dodge when you're the law. It's dangerous being close to a man like me. You want to get involved in that?"

Her reply was simple, quiet and heartfelt. "It's too late, Matt. I'm already involved. Don't you know that?"

He silently placed a warm palm against her flushed cheek, heavy brows knitted in consternation. He pressed his lips tightly together as his thumb stroked her impossibly soft skin and his mind whirled.

She continued earnestly, "Don't you think it already tears my heart out every time you're hurt or in danger? I'm already in deep, Matt Dillon. There's no turning back for me. Don't you see?"

He shook his head again in frustration, and his fingers reached to tenderly touch her hair, heretofore a forbidden intimate gesture on his part, until now, alone in her room with the air sizzling around them. He roughly asserted, "I'm not good for you, Kitty."

"Matt, I've never felt this way about a man before. How can that not be good?"

She touched his white-knuckled fist, tugged the towel from his grip, dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. "You make me feel good, Matt Dillon, about myself. And I haven't felt that way in a very long time. You can't expect me to walk away from that."

"Kitty, you… You're a one-of-a-kind woman. I don't know what I'd do if… Aw, Kitty, I…" He trailed off helplessly, his long-lashed eyes stricken.

"I know, Matt. I know," she soothed as she tiptoed, sliding lithe arms around his neck, pressing her body against his until he groaned in painful pleasure. She murmured softly, her breath brushing his neck. "Now kiss me so we'll both know how we feel."

A shuddering sigh reverberated from his wide chest, and he circled long arms around her small waist, caressing that sweet spot in the small of her back, now bared to him, warm and smooth and scented with roses, a wildly intoxicating sensation for the stalwart young lawman.

Her breath brushed his flushed face then, her deep blue eyes the only thing he could see, the only thing in the room…the only thing in the world. She whispered, "Just kiss me once, Matt."

"You know damn well I won't be able to kiss you just once, honey." His voice was thick with emotion as his hands languorously caressed her silky skin.

His tantalizing touch made her arch her back and press her soft, bare breasts to his hard chest. She soothed, "I know, Matt… I kn-"

end

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 _And the rest is history, Gunsmoke fans. Thanks for reading. ~lj_


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